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BUNTY PRESCOTT 

AT ENGLISHMAN’S CAMP 







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At last the fish gained the goal it had been seeking — the big 
stump. Bunty reeled in till there was a dangerous strain on the 
line. The fish did not budge. 


Bunty Prescott 

At Englishman’s Gamp 

BY 

Major M. J. Phillips 
»» 

Illustrated by Emile Nelson 

The Reilly & Britton Co. 
Chicago 



COPYRIGHT, 1912. 
by 

THE EEILLY & BKITTON CO. 




Bunty Prescott at Englishman's Camp. 





AO 0 

CI.A316694 



To 

Major Carlos H. Hanks and Family 
True friends and faithful critics 




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CONTENTS 


CHAPTEB PAGE 

I The Last Day of School 11 

II Planning for the Journey 21 

III Northward, Ho 1 26 

IV Eeveille in the Jack Pine Country 35 

V Bunty^s First Indian 41 

VI Off to Englishman’s Camp 49 

VII The First Night by the Au Sable 57 

VIII Pitching the Tents 64 

IX Along the Au Sable 71 

X The First Camp Fire 80 

XI B'unty Meets the Foxes 89 

XII Bunty’s First Trout 97 

XIII Mr. Prescott Becomes a Carpenter 105 

XIV Eedbird Decides to Move Ill 

XV Getting the Souvenirs 116 

XVI A Visit to Sable Knob 123 

XVII Bunty’s Second Indian 130 

XVIII Learning How to Shoot 137 

XIX What a Good Sportsman Does 147 

XX The Fourth of July Celebration 152 


Contents 


CHAPTE1& page 

XXI In the Huckleberry Swamp 159 

XXII Down the Au Sable 166 

XXIII Gliding Across a State 172 

XXIV A Midnight Visitor 178 

XXV A Kainy Day on the Eiver 184 

XXVI The White Water” 189 

XXVII Duty Calls Mr. Prescott 196 

XXVIII Lost in the Wilderness 202 

XXIX Bunty Learns Self-Dependence 211 

XXX Bunty Learns to Swim 219 

XXXI Mr. Prescott Starts a School 226 

XXXII Work and Play at the School 233 

XXXIII The Coming op Winter 239 

XXXIV Bunty Becomes a Deer Hunter 243 

XXXV Bunty Learns What ^‘Buck Fever” Is 249 

XXXVI BVnty Brings Down a Deer 257 

XXXVII Bunty Fights for His Life 262 

XXXVIII Winter in the Wilderness 267 

XXXIX Good-Bye to the Wilderness 273 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


At last the fish gained the goal it had been seeking — the 
big stump. Bunty reeled in till there was a dangerous 
strain on the line. Frontispiece / 

The Fox Family visits Englishman’s Camp. Page 92 

With an ear-splitting yell Eedbird rushed at the stooping 
figure by the boat. Then he struck with all his 
might. Page 182 

Bunty looked up to see a deer standing quietly in the run- 
way before him, so close that it seemed to be staring 
right into his eyes. Page 254 ^ 




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BUNTY PRESCOTT 
AT ENGLISHMAN’S GAMP 

CHAPTER I 

THE LAST DAY OF SCHOOL 

It was a bright, warm day in June, 1897. From 
every school in the city of Detroit, Michigan, 
troops of happy boys and girls, books under arms, 
were going homeward. The long summer vaca- 
tion, with its joys, was before them. 

The girls, eagerly chattering, planned picnics, 
boat excursions and all-day visits to the beautiful 
parks which Detroit boasts. The boys talked 
busily of baseball games and trips to the bathing 
beaches at Belle Isle, where they could splash in 
the mighty river to their heart’s content, watched 
over by the careful expert swimmers who are 
hired for that purpose by the city. 

No lessons to get, no school bells to heed, no 
teachers to obey, for ten long, glorious weeks! 
They felt that they were on the eve of the hap- 
piest days of their lives. The soft, caressing air 
echoed to their shouts and songs. Ten weeks! 
Why, September seemed ages away! 

Of all the chattering, care-free scores that came 
tumbling out of the handsome Forest Avenue 
11 


12 


Bunty Prescott 


School, in the eastern part of the city, one boy 
alone seemed untouched by the general light- 
heartedness. While the others skipped and jostled 
each other, he walked slowly and sedately along. 
They carried their books easily and carelessly ; he 
clung to his with a certain weariness, as though 
the weight were almost too great for him. 

Their faces were flushed pink by the warm sun 
and their own frolicking, and were round and firm 
with health. His face was thin and drawn. It 
was also very pale, except on each cheek bone, 
where there was a bright red spot. His eyes 
seemed different, too, from those of his compan- 
ions, for they were fixed and glassy. His arms 
and legs were slender and bony. 

The boy was Hugo Prescott, or ‘ ^ Bunty, ’ ’ as he 
was more often called, both by his father and his 
boy chums. He was the son of Professor Joseph 
Prescott, principal of the Forest Avenue School, 
and was about ten years of age. They lived in a 
pretty little cottage two blocks from the school- 
building. Yet slight as the distance was, Bunty 
felt that he could barely drag himself this last 
day of school to his home. The sigh with which he 
dropped into a chair on the vine-shaded front 
porch had more of weakness than relief in it. 

Professor Prescott, his duties over for the 
school year, except for the commencement exer- 


The Last Day of School 


13 


cises that evening, followed his son a few moments 
later. He was a tall young man with curly brown 
hair and kindly blue eyes. He was regarded a^ 
one of the best teachers in the city. With his own 
pupils he was very popular, for though he was 
firm and just he was also tactful. 

The boys of the Forest Avenue School boasted 
to those from other schools about their principal. 
Mr. Prescott had been a famous athlete at the 
University of Michigan. He had played third 
base on the baseball team, and also had won his 
Varsity ^‘M’’ as tackle on the football eleven, and 
distance runner on the track team. 

Better yet, in their estimation, he was a soldier, 
for he commanded a company in the Michigan 
National Guard. Sometimes they saw young men 
draw themselves up stiffly and salute Mr. Prescott 
when they met him. This salute was made by 
raising the forearm, the fingers extended and 
joined, until the first finger touched the brim of the 
hat or cap. If the young man passed on Mr. Pres- 
cott ^s right, he saluted wdth his left hand, being 
careful to bring up the hand to the brim just over 
the left eye. 

If he passed on Mr. Prescott ^s left, the salute 
was made with the right hand, which touched the 
hat opposite the right eye. These young men called 
the principal ‘ ‘ Captain. ’ ’ In reply, he spoke their 


14 


Bunty Prescott 


last names or addressed them as ^^CorporaP’ or 
‘ ‘ Sergeant. ’ ’ The latter title, as he pronounced it, 
sounded as if it were spelled s-a-r-g-e-n-t. 

Sometimes the principal would stop and talk to 
the young men. The students noted that on these 
occasions the young men kept their heels together 
and their hands close to their sides. Billy Ander- 
son, one of Bunty ’s friends, was telling his grand- 
father about it one day. 

He knew Grandpa Anderson would be inter- 
ested, since he was a veteran of the Civil War, and 
belonged to Detroit Post of the Grand Army of 
the Eepublic. Grandpa was interested, for he 
nodded approvingly and said: ‘‘My boy, when 
you get old enough, I want you to join Captain 
Prescott’s company. He has the best-drilled and 
best-disciplined company of militia in the city. ’ ’ 

Mr. Prescott’s military training was suggested 
now by the erectness of his head and the square- 
ness of his shoulders as he turned in at his own 
gate. He was going on into the house, not notic- 
ing that his son was seated in an angle of the 
porch, but a dry, gasping cough from Hugo caused 
him to turn suddenly. 

With deep concern in his face he seated himself 
in a chair beside the lad. “Why, old man,” he 
said, “what is the matter?” 

Though father and son, they were chums as 


The Last Day of School 


15 


well, and Mr. Prescott spoke as if to a man of Ms 
own age, or as if lie were a boy himself. 

Despite his pinched little face, Bunty was much 
like his father. He had the same curly hair and 
steady blue eyes. His wan smile, which he tried 
manfully to make brave, also reminded one of Mr. 
Prescott. 

‘‘Nothing, daddy,’’ he replied, even as the hack- 
ing cough burst forth again before he could stop it. 

“You’ve never got over that cold you had last 
spring,” said the father with conviction. “And 
I’ve been too busy at school to notice that my old 
partner was feeling a little olf. But we’ll go to 
Dr. McFarland after dinner ; he ’ll fix us up. ’ ’ He 
laid an arm about his son’s shoulders as they went 
into the house together. 

Bunty ’s mother had been dead from the time he 
was a baby, and the household consisted of father 
and son, Mr. Prescott’s mother and a maid. 
Because of grandma’s fostering care, Bunty had 
scarcely noticed the absence of a mother’s love. 

Grandma Prescott presented a picture much dif- 
ferent from the grandmas of most boys and girls. 
There was scarcely a gray thread in her glossy 
brown hair, and her laugh was as merry as that of 
a woman half her age. Most grandmas are knit- 
ting during their spare time — or so at least it 
seems from what we have seen and heard. 


16 


Bunty Prescott 


But instead of knitting, Grandma Prescott 
played duets on the piano with Bunty, and often 
went downtown or to Palmer Park with him. She 
was, next to daddy, thought Bunty, the best com- 
rade in the world. 

Now her son, leaving Bunty in the library, 
where he had listlessly picked up a book, sought 
her in the kitchen, where she was assisting the 
maid. It was eleven o’clock and nearly dinner 
time. 

^‘Mother,” said Mr. Prescott anxiously, ^‘have 
you noticed anything wrong with Hugo?” 

Grandma nodded gravely. ^‘Yes; he has never 
recovered from that cold. I’ve tried to doctor 
him, too. But he’s been growing too fast, and he 
can ’t get his strength back. ’ ’ 

Mr. Prescott’s expression showed that he agreed 
with her words. ‘‘And it’s been such a job pre- 
paring for commencement that I hadn’t noticed 
how ill he was looking, ’ ’ he said. ‘ ‘ But we mustn ’t 
neglect him any longer. I’ll take him over to Dr. 
McFarland’s this very afternoon.” 

An appointment was made by telephone, and two 
hours later Mr. Prescott and his son were in the 
cool, dark private office of the doctor. Bunty 
found it pleasant and restful, with its sober-tinted 
walls and faint scent of drugs. 

The doctor, a big, pleasant man with twinkling 


The Last Day of School 


17 


gray eyes, tapped Bunty^s chest and back with a 
little hammer. Then he listened by means of a 
black tube, the divided ends of which he placed 
in his ears, while the other end he held against the 
boy’s body. He counted the pulse in the hot, slen- 
der wrist. Then he motioned Bunty to resume his 
coat and be seated. 

‘^Now, Captain,” he said, turning to Mr. Pres- 
cott, ‘‘we’ll have a council of war.” 

“At your service. Doctor,” was the yeply. 
‘ ‘ Shall Hugo retire f ’ ’ 

“Oh, no. He may stay. We may want to con- 
sult him, you see. ’ ’ 

After he had put away his instruments he con- 
tinued : ‘ ‘ Hugo ’s had too much of the city. There ’s 
been that nasty cough, and he’s studied pretty 
hard. His rapid growth has sapped his strength 
somewhat. That’s what makes the cough hang 
on. 

“You might have come sooner, but you’re not 
too late. He ’ll pick up strength fast now. But to 
be really safe, I believe we ought to send him 
away.” 

“Whatever you say, Doctor,” replied Mr. 
Prescott. 

“And there ought to be some one with him to 
see he’s properly taken care of. He shouldn’t 
come back to Detroit until next spring, anyway. I 


18 Bunty Prescott 

think he should have a year to get fat and saucy 
in.’’ 

‘‘A year?” Mr. Prescott looked his surprise. 
‘ ^ Where should he go, Doctor ? ’ ’ 

‘‘Well,” said Dr. McFarland slowly, “he needs 
dry air and pure air. It’s too moist and at the 
same time too dusty here. He needs the scent of 
the balsam and the pine.” 

“Out West?” queried Mr. Prescott. 

“I didn’t have the West in mind, exactly. You 
can stay nearer home and do better. I was think- 
ing of the place I go hunting every fall. I go up 
to our cabin near Grayling, in Crawford county, 
to hunt deer. It’s on the Au Sable Eiver. The 
air is not more healing or purer anywhere. Then 
there’s good hunting and fishing. I don’t suppose 
you could give up school work for a year ? ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I can do anything you want me to do, ’ ’ replied 
Mr. Prescott. “I have money enough for the 
three of us, mother, Hugo and I, if I never open 
another schoolbook. So give us your orders. ’ ’ 

Dr. McFarland smiled and struck his knee with 
his hand. “ Good ! ” he cried. ‘ ‘ That ’s great luck. 
I order you to Au Sable! 

“You can take a tent along and sleep in it until 
winter. Then you can move into our cabin. How 
would you like that, Hugo ? ’ ’ 

The boy jumped from his chair, his pale face 


The Last Day of School 


19 


flushed and his eyes shining. ‘‘Oh, daddy he 
cried, ‘ ‘ will you — can we I Ve always wanted to 
hunt and fish and shoot ! Please, please, let ’s go ! ’ ^ 

Both the doctor and Mr. Prescott smiled at his 
enthusiasm. “Well, that settles it,^’ said the lat- 
ter. “It’s northward for the two of us. You’re 
kind about otf ering that cottage. Doctor. ’ ’ 

“Oh, there are conditions,” replied the doctor. 
“You must have plenty of wood stored up, and a 
great, big supper of pancakes and bacon and coffee 
for Judge Bancroft and Mr. Conway and me when 
we come in November. That lets us out of the only 
disagreeable thing about hunting: making camp 
the first night.” 

“You shall have your flapjacks and the rest of 
it,” promised Mr. Prescott. “Just let me know 
when you are coming. 

‘ ‘ I was planning to take Hugo to camp at Island 
Lake this summer,” he continued; “for he has 
never seen an encampment of state troops. But 
this will be better. The sooner we start for the 
north the better. Doctor 1 ’ ’ 

“The sooner the better,” echoed Dr. McFarland. 
“Drop in this evening and we’ll go over the matter 
together.” 

“Gladly, Doctor. I shall want some advice on 
what supplies to take.” 

The doctor laughed and gave Mr. Prescott a 


20 


Bunty Prescott 


little push. ‘‘Go on with you! A seasoned cam- 
paigner like yourself asking an amateur like me 
what to take! He’s joking, eh, Hugo?” and he 
winked jovially at the boy. 


CHAPTER II 


PLANNING FOR THE JOURNEY 

The week that followed was a busy one. There 
were several conferences with the doctor, who 
made up a tonic for Bunty. He was also per- 
suaded to help Mr. Prescott prepare the outfit for 
a long sojourn in the woods. The captain con- 
vinced his friend that living as a soldier in camp 
was considerably different from being cast prac- 
tically on one’s own resources in a tangled 
wilderness a dozen miles from a railroad. 

There were guns and blankets and fishing 
tackle and canned goods to buy, not to mention 
suitable clothing. 

Mr. Prescott, after pondering on the clothing 
question for some time, purchased two outfits 
almost identically alike for Bunty and himself. 
There were two weights of good woolen under- 
wear, dark blue flannel shirts, canvas leggings, 
corduroy hunting suits, the breeches fitted with 
eyelets and laces from the knees down. This per- 
mitted them to be laced tightly about the lower 
leg, keeping out cold and snow. 

21 


22 


Bunty Prescott 


There were light but stout shoes for good 
weather. High, russet, laced boots, reaching quite 
to the knee, waterproofed and with heavy soles, 
were secured for winter wear. Hip boots for wad- 
ing, and a sailor’s suit of oiled canvas jacket and 
overalls, not to mention a flannel-lined sou’wester 
oiled hat with flannel earlaps which, tied snugly 
under the chin, would enable them to laugh at 
rainy weather. 

Yards and yards of mosquito netting, for the 
discouragement of ambitious northern Michigan 
insects, were secured. Then there were snow- 
shoes, very necessary for navigating the snows of 
the jack pine wilderness in winter, and fur caps to 
protect the ears from the calm, biting cold. Gaudily 
colored Mackinaw jackets which fell to the middle 
of the thigh and were bound about the waist by a 
heavy woolen scarf, and heavy socks, mittens, and 
fur-lined gloves completed the list of clothing 
purchases. 

Mr. Prescott secured two tents for summer use. 
They were nine-by-nines, which is the army 
description of an officer’s tent. The figures refer 
to the ground dimensions of the tent. He also 
bought the poles and pins that went with the tents, 
and four ^ ^flies’’ besides. A fly is a tent without 
walls — merely the roof canvas — and is generally 
used as a temporary shelter from the sun and rain. 


Planning for the Journey 


23 

Two ‘‘pup tents’^ were also on his list. A pup 
tent is a small shelter not over three feet high and 
about six feet long. In the army and National 
Guard, when the troops are on field marches that 
necessitate remaining away from camp overnight, 
every two soldiers have a pup tent complete 
between them. 

Each carries half the canvas, which overlaps 
and buttons together at the top and down the rear, 
thus keeping out the wind and rain very effect- 
ively. Each soldier also carries one of the poles, 
which are each made in two sections. The poles 
when required for use are fitted together by means 
of a tin socket which covers one end of the upper 
half. 

The front of each little tent is open, but there 
are buttons and buttonholes along the edges. By 
means of these, two complete shelter tents, as they 
are officially known, can be buttoned together at 
the open ends. This completes one long, low, 
weather-proof tent without an opening in it any- 
where. It will accommodate four soldiers at a 
pinch, each pair lying feet to feet. 

His soldierly training impelled Mr. Prescott to 
get two ponchos also. A poncho is a rubber blanket 
with a slit in the center, through which the head is 
inserted. The slit then buttons snugly about the 
neck, and the poncho falls below the knees on all 


24 


Bunty Prescott 


sides, furnisliing practical protection from the 
elements for either mounted or foot soldiers. 

When a soldier prepares to go on the march, he 
lays the rubber blanket, inside up, on the ground; 
On this he spreads his half of the shelter tent ; then 
comes the woolen blanket, and on top of that he 
arranges the two halves of his tent pole and the 
pins that go with the tent. 

Then he starts at one of the long sides and rolls 
everything into a neat roll. With the shelter tent 
rope he ties this roll firmly at either end, so pins or 
pole cannot drop out, and brings the two ends 
together with a final turn. 

When all is ready he slips this magnet-shaped 
bundle over his left shoulder and marches away. 
One half of the pup tent pole is in either end, and 
stiffens the bundle, while the part of the roll on his 
shoulder is soft and pliable. Thus his ‘‘house’’ is 
on his back, snugly encased in a rubber overcoat to 
keep it dry. 

Captain Prescott had often taught the men of 
his company how to make a “blanket-roll,” as it 
is called, and he planned to use his knowledge of 
carrying and setting up a pup tent on jaunts when 
Bunty had regained his strength. He reveled in 
these and similar purchases, for the prospect of a 
year in the pine barrens had become as delightful 
to him as to Bunty. He had always been fond of 


Planning for the Journey 


25 


an outdoor life, the more so because teaching, for 
which he had an especial gift, kept him inside so 
much. Now his longing for the rifle, the rod and 
the white canvas overhead was about to be 
gratified. 


CHAPTEE III 


NOKTHWARD, HO ! 

The days that ensued before they left were excit- 
ing and delightful ones for Bunty. Because of his 
slight strength, it was decided that he should stay 
at home, as the trips downtown to make the many 
purchases, would be too tiring. So he sat on the 
front porch and acted as a reception committee. 

Usually delivery wagons made the journeys to 
him, but occasionally an errand boy came stag- 
gering under a parcel as large as himself. Bunty 
opened everything as it came, to feast his eyes 
upon a most fascinating array of new possessions. 

He tried on the new and picturesque clothing 
every day, erected the pup tents in the back yard, 
and arranged about them the camp utensils. All 
his boy friends found the articles as engrossing 
as did he. Baseball and swimming trips were 
neglected for the fascinating new sport of 
‘‘playing camping out.’^ 

Billy Anderson was master of ceremonies. He 
was trapper, Indian chief, guide and deer hunter 
in such rapid succession that his comrades were 
26 


Northward, Ho! 


27 


forced to ask every few minutes just what char- 
acter was then at the fore. 

Terrible battles with redskins were fought in 
the back yard, from the currant bushes on the 
west side to the hedge along Mr. Brooks ’ property 
on the east side. 

The hedge, which was about thirty inches high, 
was also the great pine log over which the deer 
leaped to their doom. Billy, of course, was the 
wonderful lone hunter. 

Armed with an air gun, he lay in ambush behind 
the cabbage patch, and as each boy vaulted the 
hedge, he cried ‘‘bang!^’ loudly and pulled the 
trigger. Bunty had been cautioned not to take 
violent exercise, but he sat on the grass plot near 
by and enjoyed the sport as much as anybody. 

The first day all the ‘^deer’^ fell victims to 
Billy’s unerring aim and rolled in the grass, 
excepting Bobby Smith. When he came sailing 
over the hedge, and the concealed marksman had 
fired upon him, Bobby simply kicked up his heels 
and kept on running. 

A whispered conference between Billy, Bunty 
and the stricken deer followed hard on this act 
of treason. Bobby came back after a while to 
discover that he was an Indian who had disobeyed 
the rules of the tribe, and that he was sentenced 
to the ‘^silence punishment.” 


28 


Bunty Prescott 


No member of the tribe dared speak to him, 
under penalty of a similar fate. Ten minutes of 
being a tribal outcast cured Bobby, and the 
Indians, in the flicker of an eye, became deer 
again. Thereafter Bobby writhed most artistic- 
ally on the grass when the deer slayer turned the 
repeating rifle upon him. 

A load of lumber was delivered in the back 
yard, and with it came a carpenter and his basket 
of tools. As most ordinary trunks were not large 
enough for the camp supplies, and would be dam- 
aged by rough usage, Mr. Prescott decided to 
have suitable heavy chests built. They were made 
of stout lumber, with good strong hinges and locks. 
Everything went into them excepting the tent 
poles of the nine-by-nines, which were tied 
together with bits of wire for the trip north. 

Into one chest went books and magazines in 
plenty, likewise a number of works in which Mr. 
Prescott was pursuing a course of study, his 
military treatises and Bunty ’s own schoolbooks. 

The boy was all attention at that. ‘‘Why, 
daddy, we won’t need those, will weP’ he queried 
with wide eyes, pointing to his books. 

His father smiled. ‘ ‘ Indeed we will, old man, ’ ’ 
was the reply. “Both of us are going to school 
just the same — but it will be in our own tent or 
cabin. I will keep up my special work, and every 


Northward, Ho! 


29 


day you will recite your lessons. Then, a year 
from next September, you see, you can step in 
with your own class.’’ 

‘^Oh,” said Bunty rather doubtfully. He had 
quite lost sight of such a possibility as being 
required to keep up his studies. 

At last everything was in readiness. Bunty ’s 
Uncle Fred and Aunt Nellie had moved into the 
Forest Avenue home. They were to live with 
Grandma Prescott during the absence of the 
young health-seeker and his father in the north. 
The consultation with Dr. McFarland had been 
held on Thursday; the following Thursday was 
the day set for the start. 

Wednesday night Bunty ’s schoolmates came to 
give him a formal farewell. There were about 
twenty-five of them, the girls in neat summer 
frocks, and the boys uncomfortable at having to 
wear jackets again after a week of freedom from 
them. 

The prospect of a change and the week of rest 
had caused Bunty to improve. He was feeling 
quite strong and he entered into the games 
heartily. But he soon saw that there was some- 
thing going on to which he was not a party. Billy 
Anderson spent most of his time in the center of 
different groups on the porch, evidently exhibiting 
something to them. 


30 


Bunty Prescott 


Once Bunty came onto Billy and his sister Ethel 
near the hall staircase, and Billy was evidently 
reciting something. His sister broke in on his 
singsong voice: ‘‘No, no, Billy; you’ve left out 
‘ auspicious ’ 

“Well,” he complained, “why didn’t you put 
an easier word there? I can’t ever remember 
that!’? 

“You must remember it,” Ethel replied. Then 
they saw Bunty and ran away laughing. 

After the games had all been played out, and 
the ice cream and cake had been eaten, Bunty dis- 
covered what the secret was. With much crowd- 
ing and giggling the guests grouped themselves 
in the parlor. They formed a circle about him 
and Billy Anderson. 

Billy waited until the noise had ceased, took a 
complacent look over the assemblage, and began 
in the singsong voice he had used in the hall; 

“Friend Hugo: We are all glad to be here 
to-night. I am pleased to be one of the twenty- 
seven guests ” 

‘ ‘ Twenty-five, Billy, ’ ’ interrupted Ethel, primly. 

Billy gave her a crushing look. ‘ ‘ I counted ’em ; 
there’s twenty-seven,” he said. Then he began 
again : 

“Friend Hugo: We are all glad to be here 
to-night. I am pleased to be one of the twenty- 


Northward, Ho! 


31 


seven guests he paused to look defiantly at 

his sister, who shook her head, and murmured 
‘‘ twenty-five^' under her breath. Then he went 

on again: ‘‘ twenty-seven guests who have 

gathered here on this — this — aw — er — on 
this " 

He glanced appealingly at Ethel who, miffed at 
the dispute over the number, would not meet his 
eye. Finally, when a titter ran around the circle, 
she asked: “Twenty- five or twenty-seven?" 

“Twenty-five," agreed Billy humbly. 

“ ‘Auspicious,' then," said Ethel. 

So Billy went clear back again : ‘ ‘ Friend Hugo : 
We are all glad to be here to-night. I am pleased 
to be one of the twenty-sev — mean twenty-five, 
guests who have gathered here on this aw — aw — 
auspicious occasion, to give you a to — a, ah — a — 
to " 

“Which toe?" put in Bobby Smith. 

“Token," pronounced Ethel. 

“Token of appreciation " 

“ ^Hearty appreciation,' " corrected Ethel, 
impatiently. 

‘ ‘ Oh, say your own old speech ! ' ' cried Billy, as 
he reached into his pocket and drew forth a brown 
leather case, which he handed to Hugo. “What 
I wanted to say, Bunty, is that we got you a 
watch to take up north, and we hope you'll have a 


32 Bunty Prescott 

good time and won’t forget to write to us. Don’t 
we, fellows?” 

The response was loud and prompt. The girls 
refused to be ignored, despite Billy’s ‘‘fellows,” 
and answered as quickly as the boys. 

The watch was a little beauty, with strong 
nickeled case, and heavy black hands and dial 
figures. It had a stout leather thong instead 
of a chain, which fact pleased Bunty immensely. 
Grandpa Anderson had picked it out at the 
request of the children. He chose it because 
it was much like the one he had carried through 
the war. “Good and stout, with no chain to 
catch on the bushes,” he said; “and the kind of 
a dial you can tell time by in the dark. Just the 
thing for roughing it.” 

All the young people crowded around to admire 
it, except Ethel. She had seen the watch many 
times in the preceding three days. Besides, she 
had an appreciative audience to whom she recited 
the speech she had written for Billy: Grandma 
and Mr. Prescott and Bunty ’s uncle and aunt. 
They clapped their hands when she had finished, 
and assured her that the children had missed 
something when Billy forgot his lines. 

The Prescott household was up bright and early 
Thursday morning. A truck was in the alley 
back of the house at seven o’clock, and Mr. 


Northward, Ho! 


33 


Prescott, assisted by the driver and Mr. Brooks, 
loaded the three big chests, the tent poles and a 
stont little steamer trunk aboard. The baggage 
was then carted to the Michigan Central station 
and sent out on a morning train for the north. 

Mr. Prescott was too experienced a camper not 
to make sure that the baggage would reach the 
destination at least as soon as he did. He knew 
that delay was possible, especially as there was a 
transfer to be made and traffic was heavy. 

The transfer occurred at Bay City, and hun- 
dreds of tourists were going to the northern lake 
resorts weekly, so it was a wise precaution to make 
due allowance for a congestion. 

Everybody was very quiet, in the hope that 
Bunty would get an hour’s extra sleep, in view of 
the long journey ahead of him. But he was up 
with the lark. Long before the baggage had gone 
he had eaten breakfast and was in his accustomed 
place on the porch. 

Those who had attended the party the night 
before, and many others, came to say good-bye. A 
number stayed all day, only going home reluc- 
tantly at sundown. 

Billy Anderson was master of ceremonies. On a 
sheet of paper, grimy from much fingering, he 
wrote the memento which each boy and girl wanted 
from the north. 


34 


Bunty Prescott 


‘‘Eead this list after you get settled in camp, 
Bunty,’’ he said. ‘^And if there’s anything you 
can’t get, just say the supply is ’zausted, and it 
will be all right.” 

""£^a;hausted, Billy,” corrected his sister. 

^^Of course I know you’ll make a speshul etfort 
to get the fellows what they want,” continued 
Billy, apparently ignoring the correction. ‘‘It 
don’t make so much difference about the girls!” 

At half past eight that evening the carriage 
came for Mr. Prescott and Bunty. There were 
hurried good-byes to neighbors and to the mem- 
bers of the family remaining behind. Then they 
were whirled off to the station. 


CHAPTER IV 


EEVEILLE IN THE JACK PINE COUNTKY 

The great, brick, ivy-grown station was a scene 
of bustle and confusion when they arrived. Street 
cars came clanging and rumbling up to one side 
of it. Carriages and omnibuses were lined up 
along the curb on the other. A train had just 
arrived. The passengers, as they streamed out 
the broad doorways, were pounced on by the 
drivers, who shouted at the top of their voices 
invitations to ride. 

Inside the station many people were moving 
restlessly to and fro under the glaring, sputtering 
arc lights. Some were seeking information ; others 
were hurrying to trains; and here and there a 
little group waited for incoming friends. 

Mr. Prescott had secured Pullman and railroad 
tickets during the day, so they were not delayed 
nor forced to become part of the impatient line 
which filed up to the brightly-lighted ticket win- 
dow. Instead, they walked leisurely through the 
big room and to a door on the opposite side. 

This door opened into a roofed shed, the front 
35 


36 


Bunty Prescott 


of which was a high iron fence. Arc lights cast 
their white gleams here, too, and showed that 
iron turnstiles were set in the fence at regular 
intervals. 

Mr. Prescott passed over his tickets to the 
nearest turnstile man, who punched a little hole 
in them and handed them back. 

‘‘ Grayling he said. Track eight, to your 
left.’^ 

A tall colored porter, with teeth that shone in a 
smile, relieved Mr. Prescott of his traveling bag. 
‘‘This way, sah,’’ he said. “Mackinaw sleepah 
is the second car. You have the stateroom, sah.^^ 

He led the way along the carpeted aisle of the 
car to a little compartment at the upper end. In 
accordance with Mr. Prescott’s wishes, the state- 
room was already “made up.” There were com- 
fortable beds stretching down each side of the 
compartment. They were covered with snowy 
linen, and looked so clean and inviting that both 
father and son made haste to undress and roll in. 

The door was closed and the curtains were down, 
so the little room was quite dark. For some mo- 
ments Bunty lay contentedly listening to the scuf- 
fling of feet within and without the car, to occa- 
sional snatches of conversation, and to the testing 
of the air brakes of the train. 

At last a loud voice said “Al-1-11 abo-o-oard!” 


Reveille in the Jack Pine Country 37 

There was a clattering as the vestibules 
were closed. The wheels began turning slowly. 
Hurrah ! They were off ! 

Gradually the train gathered speed. Electric 
street lights, in quick succession, threw narrow 
pencils of light into the stateroom from the sides 
of the curtains. Finally they left Detroit behind 
and were rushing swiftly through the country. 

The whistle of the great locomotive occasionally 
sent forth its echoing roar of warning over wood 
and field. The monotonous ‘ ‘ clickety-click, click- 
ety-click ! ’ ’ of the wheels as they passed over the 
rail joints, became a soothing lullaby. Fainter 
and fainter sounded the whistle. The clicking 
sank to a pleasant, drowsy murmur. . . . 

Hugo slept. 

It seemed but a few moments before he was 
awakened by a knocking on the stateroom door. 
When it was not repeated, he drowsily supposed 
he had been mistaken in thinking it was meant for 
him, and he turned over for another nap. 

But from the other couch came a clear, lilting 
whistle. It stirred him into complete wakefulness. 

‘‘Daddy, what is that tuneT’ he asked. 

His father laughed. “It isn’t a tune,” he said. 
“It’s the bugle call which awakens the soldiers 
each morning. It’s called Reveille, The boys 
have made up a little verse that goes with it.” 


38 


Bunty Prescott 


^^What is the verse queried Hugo, eagerly. 
So his father sang: 




can’t get ’em up at all. The corpr’l’s worse’n the 




rri 



BE 

djc. 

1 ^ 




— — 

bM 


captain’s worse’n the sergeant, ’n’the colonel’s worst of all ! 



Reveille in the Jack Pine Country 39 

‘^Why, daddy, I think that’s pretty cute!” said 
Bunty. ‘‘Sing it again, please.” 

But his father shook him playfully. ‘ ‘ It may be 
cute, but in the army it has a meaning, young man. 
And that meaning is ‘Get right up!’ Don’t you 
realize we’re getting near Grayling!” 

“It seems as though we’d just gone to bed!” 
said Bunty in surprise. 

“Which shows that you’re a great traveler,” 
responded Mr. Prescott. “You never stirred all 
night, though we bumped and banged around, and 
stopped at a station every hour or so. At Bay 
City we laid over for two hours while they made 
up a new train to take us north. When they 
coupled onto this sleeper, the bump nearly tossed 
me out of my bunk.” 

“I never heard a thing,” said Bunty, yawning 
heartily. 

They were dressing as they talked, in their stout 
shoes, corduroy breeches and flannel shirts. Mr. 
Prescott looked at his watch, and Hugo, with a 
very businesslike air, drew his timepiece from 
the pocket of his shirt. It was three forty. 

“Twenty minutes before we’re due in Gray- 
ling,” announced Mr. Prescott. “Get your comb 
and brush and come along to the toilet room. 
And,” he added, “be quiet, so you will not dis- 
turb the sleeping passengers.” 


40 


Bunty Prescott 


No one but the porter was astir. The berths 
on either side of the aisle were closely curtained 
and the lights overhead flickered dimly. The train 
shot around a long curve as Hugo and his father 
walked carefully, if unsteadily, to the rear of 
the car. The swaying motion threatened every 
moment to pitch them headlong into the berth of 
some sleeping passenger, but they made the trip 
without mishap. 

As they entered the toilet room, Hugo uttered a 
hushed cry of delight. The curtains were up. 
Through the windows he caught his first glimpse 
of the jack pine country. 


CHAPTER V 


BUNTY^S FIKST INDIAN 

The train was hurrying straight into the north, 
and Bunty looked out towards the east. A mile 
away was a line of low hills, running parallel with 
the track. They were covered with sparse, bushy 
vegetation, with jack pine, and with great pine 
stumps, scarred and blackened by many a fire. 
Here and there, like a lonesome sentinel, the stub 
of what was once a noble pine reared its splin- 
tered, branchless head forty, fifty or even sixty 
feet into the air. 

The jack pine is the stunted second-growth pine. 
It is the mere ghost of the mighty expanse of 
forest which formerly covered the north country 
from Saginaw to the straits of Mackinac. Rarely 
do the little trees grow more than twenty feet in 
height, and most of them are but twelve to fifteen 
feet. A soil rendered light and unproductive by 
many fires is responsible for this dwarfed growth. 

So fierce are these forest fires that the earth is 
not spared by the flames. The very fiber, the 
leaves, grass roots, all the rich materials which 

41 


42 


Bunty Prescott 


go to make up the thick black muck of a new and 
fertile country, are destroyed. 

On the hills Bunty occasionally noted gashes of 
varying size, light yellow in color. The meaning 
of these puzzled him until he looked close to the 
track. There were many other yellow patches 
which seemed to take wing in gauzy clouds as he 
looked. It was sand! 

For scores and scores of miles the country was 
a vast sand pit. Hardy little bushes and jack 
pine sprang from the soil, it is true; in places 
there was even a sod, but underneath and every- 
where was the sand — light, fine and clean as gran- 
ulated sugar, ready to be stirred into restless 
motion by every breath of air. 

Bunty ^s eyes feasted themselves on the expanse 
of country steadily unrolling before him. His 
gaze roamed from the hills which the hidden sun 
was beginning to gild with glorious light, over the 
rolling, monotonous plain, to the railroad itself. 
Without knowing it he was searching for some 
sign of settlement and civilization: A road, a 
house, even a shed. There was none ; nothing but 
a dewy, vacant tract from which the tall, whis- 
pering pines had been ruthlessly cut away. 

When this fact was borne in upon him he began 
looking more closely than ever — ^but for wild ani- 
mals now. I think he was a little disappointed 


Bunty^s First Indian 


43 


that a deer did not spring into view beside the 
track and toss lordly antlers in defiance at the 
train. 

So absorbing was this pastime of scanning the 
strange, empty country that the engine whistled 
its long, single blast — the signal that they were 
approaching a station — while he was still washing 
his face and hands. He dried them on the crisp 
little square towel which the porter handed him, 
and hurried out. 

The air brakes hissed; the car wheels groaned 
and screeched beneath their grasp; the speed 
of the train was checked. With a hollow rumble 
they passed over a turbulent little river filled with 
logs, between grimy railroad buildings, over a 
street, and came to a stop. ‘^Gra-a-aayling!’^ 
called the brakeman in the next car, as Bunty and 
his father stepped out into the vestibule. 

The first thing that impressed him as he left 
the train and stretched himself on the depot plat- 
form was the splendid freshness of the air. It 
was cool, but not cold. Yet it seemed to pene- 
trate his lungs with the same searching vigor that 
the air did on very cold days in Detroit. 

He could not get enough of it. Throwing back 
his head, he took in great draughts. At the same 
time he was conscious of a pleasant odor, slightly 
bitter, which was ever^w^^here, like the air itself; 


44 


Bunty Prescott 


it was the scent of the balsam and the pine, a 
scent which he was to know and love within the 
next few months. 

“Mr. Prescott!^’ They turned to confront the 
man who had spoken. He was evidently a resi- 
dent of the country. He wore a battered, shape- 
less slouch hat, and his trousers were tucked into 
a pair of tall leather boots. Every garment he 
wore seemed faded and patched. 

He had shrewd, twinkling brown eyes and hair 
which fell almost to his shoulders. His upper 
lip was clean shaven, but thick whiskers a half- 
dozen inches in length projected from his chin. 
Hair and beard, formerly very dark, were begin- 
ning to turn gray. He was a man of medium size, 
but powerfully made. His shoulders were some- 
what stooped and his arms were long and sinewy. 

“Good morning,’’ responded Mr. Prescott, to 
his greeting; “Mr. Fox, I presume.” 

“Wa-al, Si Fox,” conceded the stranger. 
“Folks don’t usually put on the ‘Mister.’ ” 

“You got my letter?” 

“Ya-as; but I didn’t git your outfit,” replied 
Fox. “The baggage checks come all right in a 
railroad envelope; but I met both the afternoon 
trains and didn’t see a sign of camp stuff.” 

‘ ‘ Why, there are our chests now, daddy ! ’ ’ cried 
Bunty in great delight. 


Bunty^s First Indian 


45 


He pointed to the forward part of the train. 
Sure enough, the baggageman was unloading their 
belongings onto a truck. 

The frown of perplexity cleared from Mr. Pres- 
cott’s face. ^‘Good enough!” he said. ‘‘They 
missed connections at Bay City, after all. Lucky 
I sent them on ahead.” 

“Wa-al, I’ll throw ’em right on. There’s my 
team,” said Pox, pointing to a pair of sturdy 
little horses hitched to a wide-tired wagon. “Want 
me to get anything to take out, Mr. Prescott ? ’ ’ 

“Yes; enough two-by-four scantling and lumber 
to make floors for two nine-by-nine tents, ’ ’ replied 
the teacher. “We’ll get breakfast in the lunch 
room here, and meet you up street.” 

Then Bunty saw his first “real” Indian. At 
Wild West shows, of course, they had ridden in 
the parade. Inside the tents he had watched them 
attack the wagon train with sham ferocity. 

But they were only “play-Indians.” They did 
those things for money. They were merely actors, 
no ditferent from the singers and jugglers one 
saw in the theaters. There was no glamour and 
mystery about them. 

Si Fox turned to the line of loungers who were 
standing by the side of the station, just where the 
first rays of the rising sun would strike them. 
“Hey, you Eedbird!” he called sharply. 


46 


Bunty Prescott 


Bunty pricked up his ears at the picturesque 
name. One of the men slowly disengaged his 
shoulders from the side of the gaunt, wooden 
depot and glided noiselessly forward. 

He had a slouch hat on, too, one that long wear 
had caused to droop about his face. A red flannel 
shirt, open at the neck, may have been donned in 
honor of his name; but his cheap ‘‘store’’ trousers 
were a sad disappointment to Bunty. Feather- 
trimmed buckskin ones belonged with a shirt like 
that. Anyhow, Eedbird wore moccasins, prettily 
fringed and beaded. All in all, he was more 
striking and picturesque in appearance than his 
white companions. 

It was the first time Bunty had ever been quite 
close to an Indian, and he made the most of his 
opportunity to look well at the young man. He 
noted that the latter’s color was a clear light 
brown, with almost a sheen to it. That explained 
why the red men were called “copper-colored.” 
Eedbird was almost exactly the shade of well- 
polished copper. 

His eyes, rather small, were intensely black. 
His cheek bones were high, and his hair long, 
black and straight. Hugo noticed that he toed in 
so decidedly that his trail in the snow would prob- 
ably show one footprint exactly behind the other. 
A white man’s trail, of course, shows the toes 


Bunty^s First Indian 47 

turned well out, and the heels some inches from 
being in line. 

‘‘Eedbird,’’ said Fox, when the Indian had 
joined the group, ‘‘I want you help me two — three, 
days.’^ 

From reading Indian stories, Bunty supposed' 
that an Indian’s favorite expression was ‘‘Ugh!”j 
When he heard the red man speak for the first 
time, he noted that the word did not express the, 
sound exactly. Eedbird said something that 
sounded more like ‘‘Un-nh-hh!” Then he added, 
in a deep though not unpleasant voice, ‘‘How 
much?” 

“Fifty cents a day an’ chuck,” replied Fox. 

“Un-nh-hh!” said Eedbird again. “What do?” 

“Wa-al, help me git this stuff out to English- 
man’s Camp on the north branch of the Au Sable,” 
said Fox ; ‘ ‘ then build a new barn. ’ ’ 

“Not enough!” said Eedbird, decidedly. “Dol- 
lar an’ chuck. No cheap!” 

“I’ll pay you seventy-five cents a day,” said 
Fox. 

For answer the Indian grunted, shrugged his 
shoulders, and turning on his heel, walked as 
noiselessly as he had come, hack to the wall. 

Fox grinned at the action, which he evidently 
expected, for he said: “Wa-al, all right, Injun. 
Come on.” 


48 


Bunty Prescott 


Bunty looked up from the little scene to find 
his father smiling indulgently at him. ‘‘Well, old 
man,’’ said Mr. Prescott, “would you rather hear 
a bargain than eat breakfast? Come along; I’m 
starving. ’ ’ 

Considering the impassive face of the Indian, 
a thing most astonishing happened then. Eed- 
bird prodded the boy jovially in the ribs with his 
thumb. “Young chief heap pale,” he said; 
“woods, he fix ’um. Soon red like Injun — huh?” 
and he chuckled silently. 

The loungers, Mr. Fox — even his father — ^burst 
into roars of laughter at the look of blank sur- 
prise on the boy’s face. The Indian’s eyes were 
lost in a mass of merry wrinkles, and he shook 
noiselessly with mirth. 

Bunty ’s former notion of Indians as grim, 
scalping, bloodthirsty demons promptly faded 
away. “Say, Eedbird,” he said eagerly, “where 
can I get a bow and arrow?” 

“Eedbird make one, mebbe. Huh!” And he 
winked as he followed Fox to the loaded truck. 

Bunty ’s heart beat happily as he went into 
the lunch room with his father. He felt that he 
had already made a friend and that friend an 
Indian, in this delightful north country. 


CHAPTER VI 


OFF TO Englishman's camp 

'Never had bacon and eggs, coffee and toast 
tasted so good. The keen, pure air of the north 
had given Bunty a ravenous appetite. Mr. Pres- 
cott smiled with satisfaction at the businesslike 
way in which his son had cleaned up the thick 
white plate. 

After buying a lunch to eat on the way to 
camp, they went out onto the main street. The 
little town lay before them. The wide thorough- 
fare, deep with discolored sand, stretched away 
towards the newly-risen sun. On each side of it 
were low, wooden store buildings, most of them 
unpainted and of but one story. Two or three 
tiny church spires pierced the perfect blue of 
the sky. 

Behind them as they stood was a network of 
tracks, several puffing engines and a big round- 
house. Grayling is the starting point of two 
branch railroads which tap the districts where 
pine still stands. Many railroad men live in the 
town, and surplus engines and cars are kept there. 

49 


50 


Bunty Prescott 


Fox and Eedbird secured the lumber at a mill 
Just south of town, and were now awaiting them. 
Mr. Prescott purchased a crosscut saw, a keen 
new axe, a hammer and some nails. Besides, 
there was a package of candles. The articles were 
laid on the rough plank sidewalk in front of a 
little store, while the wagonload was rearranged. 

The lumber, the saw and the tent poles were 
placed in the bottom of the box. Two of the 
chests were arranged crosswise on the lumber, 
which was even with the top of the box. 

Then, with much puffing and grunting on the 
part of Fox, the Indian and several bystanders, 
the third chest was placed squarely on top of the 
rear one. The steamer trunk was strapped to the 
box behind. 

On the forward chest Fox arranged the bundle 
of hay which he had brought along for his horses ’ 
dinner. He spread it out, cushionwise, and cov- 
ered it with a blanket. When it had been arranged 
to his satisfaction he turned to Bunty. ‘‘Up with 
you, young chief, he said. 

Bunty clambered onto the blanket and found his 
seat a very comfortable one. The others elected 
to walk. Fox ‘ ‘ geed ^ ’ his team out into the street, 
and they were off, the horses pulling sturdily at 
the heavily loaded wagon. 

They headed east and soon left the stores 


Off to Englishman's Camp 51 

behind. Next came the residence portion. Many 
of the houses were surrounded with board fences 
that protected front yards which contained only 
heaps of yellow sand and a few discouraged wisps 
of grass. Pigs grunted companionably from 
wallows near the road; cattle roamed at will, 
munching the scanty herbage. 

While some of the houses were unpainted, 
others, the homes of Danes and Swedes, were 
bright green, blue or yellow, with the window 
sashes and doors stained a vivid red. They were 
so neat and trim and quaint in appearance that 
they reminded Bunty of the gaudily-painted doll 
houses in the shop windows at Christmas time. 

Here and there some prosperous lumbermen 
had erected handsome modern homes, surrounded 
by iron fences and carefully guarded though sickly 
looking shade trees. Bunty saw a cement walk 
leading to one such house. It had been built with 
much care and labor on the none too solid sand 
foundation. 

At the end of the village the road swung to the 
north. Then it turned back to the east again, 
in a long, sweeping curve. After that, so often 
did it curve and wind through the scrub that 
Bunty soon lost all sense of direction, though he 
knew they must be going north or east. 

The road dwindled from a well-marked high- 


52 


Bunty Prescott 


way to a mere track through the pines. Here and 
there it forked to right or left. These branching 
roads were identical in appearance with the one 
they followed. Apparently they were just as 
important. 

A tenderfoot would have lost himself hopelessly 
in half an hour. But Fox plodded on through the 
labyrinth without casting a glance at the diverg- 
ing routes. Their own road soon became little 
more than a cow path, so narrow that the vegeta- 
tion brushed the wagon on either side. 

From his perch on the box, Bunty could look 
out over a considerable expanse of country. In 
every direction it was the same: a nodding sea 
of green jack pine tops, pierced by the dead, ash- 
colored stubs. Idly he compared them to needles 
of volcanic rock in this emerald ocean. 

Neither person nor animal outside their own 
party was in sight anywhere. They met no one 
and passed no one. 

Progress was slow, for the sand was deep and 
the horses sweated under the hot sun. There were 
frequent stops to let them rest. During such 
halts Eedbird was off like a coursing hound. He 
did not seem to get tired. When Fox said 
‘‘Whoa,’’ and he and Mr. Prescott seated them- 
selves by the roadside, the Indian parted the 
underbrush and disappeared. 


53 


Ojf to Englishman's Camp 

So noiselessly did he go that Bunty, drowsing 
on his cushion, did not miss him the first two or 
three times until he was gone. Sometimes he 
rejoined them before the horses were started 
again; at other times he would step out into the 
narrow track as they came along, a quarter of 
a mile or more up the road. 

He remembered Hugo on these little expedi- 
tions. Once he brought back two or three shy, 
pretty wood flowers which the boy fastened in his 
buttonhole. At another time he held up the branch 
of a shrub six or eight inches in length on which 
were little round berries, some green, some red 
and the remainder just verging into a deep purple. 

‘‘Eat ’um blue fella,’’ said Redbird, and Hugo 
did so — to taste the first delicious huckleberries 
of the season. 

Fox had planned to reach Englishman’s Camp 
at noon. It was barely five when they started, 
and they had made two miles an hour since. But 
when they were within three miles of camp a 
mishap occurred. The wagon became bogged in 
a creek which crossed the road. 

The ground about the creek was quite marshy. 
A “corduroy” road had been built through these 
marshy spots. First, two rows of saplings, placed 
end to end, had been laid along the wagon track. 
Then, crosswise, other saplings had been placed 


54 Bunty Prescott 

side by side. This made a bumpy but serviceable 
highway. 

Long service, however, had forced the poles 
used for stringers, deep into the mud, and the 
wheels went to the hub in the ooze at every turn. 
It was necessary to cut other saplings with the 
axe, and using stumps as fulcrums, pry the wheels 
out. 

The worst bogging occurred on the edge of the 
stream. The horses stopped to drink eagerly of 
the cool water, despite Fox’s urging. Down went 
the four wheels until the box was but a few inches 
above the surface. It took two hours of hard 
work to get out of that place. 

Fortunately, the bed of the stream was hard 
and the horses had a good footing. When the 
wagon w^as finally brought back to the surface 
again, it was quite easy for them to splash through 
and reach firm ground on the other side. 

By this time it was two o’clock, and everybody 
was tired and hungry. They made a temporary 
camp by the roadside, unhitched and fed the 
horses, and ate their own lunch. They drank 
water from a spring which bubbled out of the 
higher ground upstream from the road. 

Eedbird produced a sandwich and ate it. He 
refused the otfers of more food, made him by Fox 
and Mr. Prescott. But when Bunty insisted that 


55 


Off to Englishman^ s Camp 

his share was greater than he needed, the Indian 
gravely accepted some bread and butter and meat 
from his hands. 

‘‘Does young chief command!’’ he queried, with 
a twinkle in his black eyes. 

“Yes, Eedbird,” said Bunty. 

“Un-nh-hh!” he grunted, accepting; “young 
chief, he boss!” 

They rested an hour and a half, and Bunty 
enjoyed a glorious nap. The Indian, with deft 
fingers, smoothed out a bed in the soft, warm 
sand, shaping a little mound for a pillow. Over 
this he spread a blanket so cunningly that there 
was not a wrinkle anywhere. The natural couch 
just seemed to fit the boy’s tired body, and he 
promptly dozed off. He slept almost without mov- 
ing until Fox arose to hook up the horses again. 

The character of the country gradually changed 
after they had left the creek behind. The jack 
pine forest grew thin and park-like. Occasionally 
the way led past clumps of hardwood trees. The 
soil became less sandy, and sod replaced the coarse 
bushes and infrequent bunches of long, fern-like 
grass. 

About five o’clock, as the afternoon sun was 
casting long shadows through the trees, they 
reached Englishman’s Camp. They found it a 
natural plain, level and covered with luxurious 


56 


Bunty Prescott 


grass. They entered the glade from the west. At 
the eastern side of it, perhaps two hundred yards 
away, thick underbrush and tall trees marked the 
course of the Au Sable. They could hear, faintly, 
the murmur of its hurrying waters. 

The clearing was almost circular in form. At 
its south edge, a stone’s throw from the water, 
were the house and farm buildings, all of logs, 
of the ‘‘Englishman,” Cornelius Pugh. At the 
opposite side of the clearing, on the north, where 
the encircling forest came down to the water, 
stood the cabin of Dr. McFarland and his friends. 

Several cattle and horses grazed about the 
clearing. One was the bell-cow, and a deep-toned 
hell tinkled melodiously as she raised her head 
to gaze at the intruders. 

“Well, son,” said Mr. Prescott, as they paused 
a moment, “this is home. What do you think 
of it?” 

Bunty clapped his hands with delight. “It’s 
just grand, daddy! Don’t let’s ever go back,” he 
said. The Indian laughed silently. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE FIKST NIGHT BY THE AU SABLB 

The lumber and chests were unloaded at a spot 
indicated by Mr. Prescott, and Fox and Redbird 
drove away. ‘‘I only live two mile across coun- 
try,” said the settler, with a sweep of bis arm to 
the north, ‘‘an’ I’ll be over to see ye once in a 
while. ’ ’ 

“Me come too,” said Redbird. 

“Is that so, Injun?” inquired Fox, with appar- 
ent anger. “I hired ye to help build a barn, not 
go visitin’.” But his smile and the way Redbird 
grinned back at him showed that they well under- 
stood each other, and that the Indian could visit 
them if he chose to do so. 

Mr. Pugh, a tall, silent man with a bushy, 
blond beard, who had been apprised of their com- 
ing by a letter from Dr. McFarland, now came 
over to invite them to supper. 

“The Englishman,” as the settlers generally 
called him, was a famous hunter, trapper and fish- 
erman. There were a half dozen cabins of fishing 
and hunting clubs within a mile, and he had been 
57 


58 


Bunty Prescott 


hired by the owners as caretaker during the off- 
season. His home was on property which Dr. 
McFarland and his friends owned. They had 
purchased the glade and many acres surrounding 
it several years before. 

Mrs. Pugh was almost as well-known a cook 
as her husband was sportsman. Bear meat, ven- 
ison, trout, game birds in season, she boiled, fried, 
baked and roasted to perfection. 

In fact, so indispensable was this worthy couple 
that in many an office and courtroom in Detroit 
and Chicago the eyes of busy capitalist and dig- 
nified judge would brighten at the name ‘^Pugh.^’ 
‘‘Englishman’s Camp” was a real haven of rest 
and recreation. 

The Pugh house was one story high and built as 
solidly as a fort. It was of rough logs, chinked 
with mortar. There was a living room, a kitchen, 
a dining room and several bedrooms. Mrs. Pugh 
did her cooking on a fine range which Detroit 
campers had sent her as a present the previous 
Christmas. Mr. Prescott and Bunty found her 
to be a bustling, bird-like little woman, as 
truly hospitable as her husband, and much more 
talkative. 

In the dining room and living room were great, 
open fireplaces which would each take in a log 
six feet long. Many a stirring tale of the woods 


First Fight by the Au Sable 59 

and streams was told about the leaping flames in 
those fireplaces. 

During the deer season there was scarcely a 
night but that the floor of the living room was 
covered with sleeping forms, each man rolled in 
his blanket and with a bearskin rug for a mattress. 

Bunty found the living room to be an absorb- 
ing museum of the chase. On the walls were 
thickly-clustered antlers, each pair loaded down 
with guns and fishing rods. Mr. Pugh had no 
less than nine rifles. They ranged in age from the 
old, long-barreled muzzle-loader with which as 
a young man he had hunted in the wilds of 
Canada, to the small, compact and much more 
deadly thirty caliber repeater which had been his 
but a few months. Shotguns rounded out the 
number of weapons to a baker’s dozen, to say 
nothing of three revolvers suspended in their 
holsters. 

On one wall, quite by itself, a magnificent trout 
was twisting its glistening body, as if in the act 
of leaping from the water in sheer gladness at 
being alive. 

It was a record fish,* the largest ever taken 
from the Au Sable. Mr. Pugh had studied its 
habits and angled for weeks in a great dark pool 
miles downstream before hooking it. Then the 
big, powerful fellow had fought for nearly two 


60 


Bunty Prescott 


hours before his silent conqueror had lifted him 
from the water. The skin had been skillfully 
removed, stuffed and varnished, and was the 
admiration of all who visited the cabin. 

Around the sides of the room was a complete 
chain of photographs, showing fishing and hunt- 
ing scenes, bits of the North ^s wild landscape, 
and likenesses of Mr. and Mrs. Pugh’s friends. 
On the floor, glass-eyed bears with wicked, gleam- 
ing tusks glared back at the boy from glossy 
skins. 

It was a delightful hour that Bunty spent 
in the big, square room before supper was 
announced. He never remembered afterwards 
what he ate at the long table with its white cloth. 
It was the first of many meals in that house — 
and they were all good ! Besides, he was so sleepy 
that he could barely keep his eyes open. He slept 
that night from the moment he touched the bed — 
sound, healthy, refreshing sleep that coaxed him 
back many steps on the road to strength and vigor. 

Hugo occupied a room on the south side of the 
house, and the bright sunlight streaming in 
awakened him next morning. He looked out to 
see his father weeding busily in the Pugh’s 
vegetable garden. 

Daddy,” he called out through the open win- 
dow, ‘‘blow Rev — Rev — Oh, you know! That sol- 


First Night by the Au Sable 61 

dier call about getting folks up in tlie morning/’ 

Mr. Prescott straightened himself up with a 
smile and whistled Reveille in a lively fashion. 

‘^It’s pretty late for that,” he said, after he 
had sung the words too. Reveille sounds at five 
o’clock, and here it is after seven. So hurry and 
dress; this company of soldiers has some tents 
to put up to-day.” 

With such an inducement, it is needless to say 
that Bunty hurried, and a few minutes later was 
at the breakfast table. Mrs. Pugh, who had taken 
a decided fancy to the boy, partially on account of 
his wan cheeks, coaxed him to eat of the choicest 
food. Mr. Pugh, the silent, was evidently just 
back from a long tramp. He was wet to the knees 
with dew. He nodded to Mr. Prescott and gave 
Bunty a smile that admitted the boy to full 
comradeship without further formality. 

When, a short time later, Mr. Prescott and 
Bunty were making their way across the glade to 
where their camp equipage had been piled the 
day before, the father outlined his plans. 

You know, Bunty, I had intended cooking our 
own meals,” he said. ‘‘But after that fine supper 
we had last night, I saw I could not compete with 
Mrs. Pugh. So I have made arrangements for us 
to take all our meals over there. Is that all 
right?” 


62 


Bunty Prescott 


‘ ‘ Yes, daddy. But, ’ ’ said Bunty, politely, ^ ‘ how 
do you know Mrs. Pugh can beat you! I just 
guess you^re a dreadful good cook!^’ 

Mr. Prescott laughed. ‘‘Thank you, son, for 
your faith,’’ he replied. “I have cooked in camp 
some, but the result wasn’t very good. It was all 
right so long as only I had to eat it. 

“To-day we will establish camp and take a 
little walk along the river when all is snug. 
To-morrow is Sunday, and we will rest. But next 
week we are going to take up your education. ’ ’ 

“Why, daddy,” said Bunty, in dismay, “school 
is only just out! This is vacation, you know.” 

His father laughed again. “I didn’t mean your 
book education, old man,” he explained, “but 
your woods education. This summer you must 
be taught to shoot, to hunt, to fish and to swim. 
You should also learn how to take care of your- 
self, should you happen to get lost. 

“And you must also get to understand that 
what a hunter kills, he kills for his own use. You 
must never kill for mere wanton pleasure. We 
must not take the life of any creature needlessly 
or wastefully. I don’t want my son to grow up 
a game-hog.” 

“What is a game-hog, daddy!” queried the boy. 

“Well, he’s a man that goes out into the woods 
and kills everything that his gun can reach, re- 


First Night by the Au Sable 63 

gardless of whether it is good for food, or whether 
he needs it for food. If he is fishing, he will catch 
more fish than he can carry. 

‘‘Eemember, Hugo, that waste and selfishness 
are just as wrong in the woods as at home. I 
want to see you become a good sportsman, and a 
generous one.’^ 

‘ ‘ I ’ll try to remember, daddy, ’ ’ said Bunty, 
seriously. ~ 

‘‘We will have to work some, too,” resumed his 
father. ‘ ‘ There ’s wood to be cut for the winter — 
piles and piles of it. And Dr. McFarland told me 
their cabin was too small, so I ’m going to pay our 
rent by building an addition to it for him.” 

“Get Eedbird to help you, daddy,” urged the 
boy, eagerly. 

“I intend to. I made some inquiries about him 
last night of Mr. Pugh. He says the Indian 
is honest and trustworthy, and a pretty good 
carpenter as well.” 

By this time they had arrived at the spot where 
the chests had been unloaded. “Let’s sit down 
on this box,” said Mr. Prescott, “and talk over 
where we’re going to put our tents. You know, 
this is almost as important a job as building a 
house. We’re going to live in those tents all 
summer, and we want the location to suit. Where 
do you think we should pitch them?” 


CHAPTEE VIII 


PITCHING THE TENTS 

said Bunty, after a survey of the sur- 
roundings, ^ ^ this would be all right, only we ’re too 
far from the river.” 

His father nodded. ‘ ‘ I like to be near the water, 
too,” he said. ^‘We could locate over there on 
the bank, which is good and high, so there is no 
danger of a flood. It would bring us closer to 
the cabin, too, and that is our base of supplies. 
Do you know another reason why it’s the best 
place?” 

‘‘I don’t believe I do, daddy,” replied Bunty. 

^‘Because it is high. All this ground here seems 
level, but I always examine a possible camp 
ground with the thought, ‘Which way will the 
water go in case of rainf’ When you have that 
in mind, you can’t make the mistake of getting 
your tent in a low spot. 

“Now,” he resumed, “in which direction do you 
want your front door, young man!” 

“Looking that way,” replied Bunty promptly, 
as he pointed toward Pugh’s. 

64 


Pitching the Tents 65 

Mr. Prescott nodded again. ^‘Yon have the 
true outdoors instinct — to get as much of the sun 
as possible. The sun is the best friend we have, 
and the best medicine made. The front door 
facing the south is good logic. 

‘‘Besides, we are facing somebody else’s home; 
that seems more neighborly than if we turned 
our shoulder or our back to Mr. and Mrs. Pugh. 
But weVe got to stake our tents more securely 
than if we faced the west.’’ 

“Why?” queried Bunty. 

“The prevailing winds here are from the 
west,” explained his father. “The rainstorms 
and the hard blows will come from that direction. 
We will present a big surface to the wind, you 
see. In front will be a fly ; directly behind it will 
be our parlor tent; then will come the bedroom 
tent, and behind that our back door fly. With 
such a broadside as that, we must be sure that 
everything is shipshape in case of a squall.” 

“Where are you going to put the other two 
flies?” 

“Over the parlor and the bedroom,” was the 
reply. ‘ ‘ They are made to fit snugly and will keep 
out the rain in case of a very heavy storm. With 
a fly over the tent, we don’t need to be careful 
about touching it on a wet day.” 

“Careful about touching it?” echoed Hugo. 


66 


Bimty Prescott 


‘‘Yes. After the rain has beaten on a tent with 
force for some time, it gets pretty thoroughly 
water-soaked. It will not leak unless you touch 
your finger to the wet roof, inside. But if you do, 
a little stream will follow it at once. That fepot 
will continue to leak then until the rain is over. 

“It is a favorite pastime at camp on a rainy 
day to find young soldiers asleep in their tents 
and then touch the canvas directly over their 
heads. Naturally, when the water trickles down 
into a fellow ^s face he doesnT sleep very long.’’ 

“Tell me some more about soldiers, daddy,” 
urged Bunty. 

“The place for camp stories,” said Mr. Pres- 
cott, getting off the big chest, “is around the 
camp fire. And as a camp fire is going to be an 
institution here, we’ll have plenty of time to talk 
evenings, r Now — to arms!” 

He unlocked the chest which contained the can- 
vas, and drew forth the contents. Then he car- 
ried the tents and tent poles to the location chosen 
for the permanent camp, which was about fifty 
yards away. 

There, while Bunty watched him attentively, 
he ' spread out one of the tents on the grass. 
Through a ventilator-hole — there are such holes, 
front and back, high up in the peak of each tent — 
he thrust the ridgepole. This was a stout piece of 


Pitching the Tents 


67 


twine, rounded on top, with a hole bored through 
each end. The holes in the ridgepole were directly 
opposite an eyelet in either end of the top seam of 
the tent. 

The other two poles which formed the frame- 
work of the canvas house had each an iron rod 
projecting six inches from the top. Mr. Prescott 
inserted the iron rod through the hole in the 
ridgepole and the eyelet in the tent in front, and 
placed the other pole in a similar position at the 
rear.. .Then a fly was fitted over the tent to the 
rod hy means of its eyelets. 

The tent was now all ready to raise. With his 
axe^he drove four stakes in a square about the 
tent'.' ' !To the stakes on the east side he fastened 
the corner ropes which lay uppermost. 

‘‘Brace your foot against the bottom of that, 
old man,’^ said Mr. Prescott, indicating the lower 
end of the front pole. “Then lift on the pole 
when I say the word.'’ 

He took a similar position at the rear, and said, 
“Now.” 

Up came the tent easily, until it was standing 
erect. The shifting of the poles held it upright 
until the other corner loops could be slipped over 
the stakes on the west side. There it stood, gaunt 
and wabbly, but secure enough for the time being. 

‘ ‘ Forward — march ! ’ ’ commanded Mr. Prescott, 


68 


Bunty Prescott 


and sliouldering the axe, military fashion, he 
marched off to the scrub with Bunty at his heels. 

He cut an armful of stakes each about sixteen 
inches long and nearly as thick as his wrist. 
These were carried back to camp. There they 
were pointed by the axe and Mr. Prescott’s big 
hunting knife, and notched deeply at one side near 
the top. 

These are our corner stakes,” he explained. 
^‘With four of them on a tent it is pretty likely 
to stay up, no matter what the weather.” 

The tent poles were carefully aligned, so the 
tent would not have a ‘Mop-sided” appearance, 
and would not wrinkle when finally staked down. 
Then the places of the four corner stakes were 
located. 

“Bunty,” said Mr. Prescott, pausing with axe 
suspended, all ready to drive the first one into the 
ground, “which way shall I slant the stakes — 
towards the tent or away from it?” 

“Why, away from it, daddy, of course,” replied 
Bunty, surprised that his father should ask such 
a question. 

“I’m afraid your tent would come down in a 
hurry, ’ ’ smiled Mr. Prescott. ‘ ‘ While stakes slant- 
ing away from the tent don’t look to be wrong, 
they are wrong, most decidedly. Experience has 
taught that such stakes are soon worked loose by 


Pitching the Tents 


69 


the continual jerking of the ropes in a wind. 
Stakes slanting towards the tent, and at the same 
angle as the guy ropes fastened to them, are 
subjected to the least strain. 

‘ ‘ Stakes set at an angle away from the tent are 
called ^rooky-stakes’ by soldiers, because recruits, 
deceived by the look of the improperly driven 
stake, always drive them that way. 

‘ ^ But a rooky-stake is useful sometimes. Where 
one hasn’t big corner stakes, the proper thing is 
to drive two stakes at the proper angle about four 
inches apart, and then set a rooky-stake between 
them. A rope slipped over the outer stake, and 
then given a turn around the rooky-stake is pretty 
likely to hold, no matter how strong the wind.” 

Thus chatting, Mr. Prescott worked away, and 
by noon the tents were all up, though there were 
several finishing touches still to be put on. Bunty 
was anxious to see it done, but the effects of the 
long journey from Detroit were beginning to show. 
He looked pale and tired. 

So after dinner, when he had taken the tonic 
which Dr. McFarland had provided, it was decreed 
that he should take a nap. Mrs. Pugh piled two of 
the softest bearskins near the open front door of 
the living room, placed a pillow on the topmost, 
and led Bunty to his improvised bed. 

It seemed almost worth while to spend part of 


70 


Bunty Prescott 


such a glorious day indoors if one could sleep on 
a bearskin as those mighty hunters of the north 
did. So Bunty curled up on his couch and gazed 
out at the big trees and the jack pines. They 
seemed to crowd forward to bend friendly looks 
upon him. 

. The murmur of the Au Sable sounded pleas- 
antly in his ears. The odor of the balsam and 
the pine came to him in caressing waves of 
aromatic bittersweet. He slept. 


CHAPTEE IX 


ALONG THE AU SABLE 

It was three o’clock before Hugo awoke, much 
refreshed, and joined his father at the camp. Mr. 
Prescott had used the time to good advantage. 
The tents were up in a trim line. The floors had 
been laid in the “parlor” and “bedroom,” and 
were covered with thick rugs. 

The big chests had been emptied of their con- 
tents, and by the aid of Mr. Pugh’s team and 
wagon had been hauled away and stored in the 
barn. The food supplies had been delivered to 
Mrs. Pugh. Other articles not needed for 
immediate use were packed in the cabin. 

The camp presented a snug and homelike 
appearance. The folding canvas cots which had 
been brought along were now set up on opposite 
sides of the bedroom tent, and were piled with 
blankets. Several camp stools stood about under 
the fly. 

Beneath the rear fly Mr. Prescott had evolved a 
washstand for each of them. The stands were 
simple affairs. Each consisted of three stakes 
71 


72 


Bunty Prescott 


driven into the ground at such an angle that a 
washbasin rested firmly on top. 

The tents were rolled to the eaves all around, 
to allow a free circulation of air. The eight tent 
poles stood in a straight line, like a file of soldiers, 
and the tents and fiies fitted over the ridgepoles 
without a wrinkle. This showed that the tents 
had been erected in a workmanlike manner. 

‘‘Well, Bunty,’’ asked Mr. Prescott, when the 
boy had made a thorough inspection, “what do 
you think of itP’ 

The question was almost needless, since every 
line of his son’s face showed satisfaction. 
“Daddy,” cried the boy, “it’s just grand! I 
know I’m going to like it here 1” 

“That’s good, old man,” was the hearty reply; 
“this is your camp as well as mine. We are part- 
ners. And you are sure ” 

“Sure, daddy, sure. Only,” he paused and 
hesitated, ‘ ‘ don ’t you think a year is a short time 
to take all this trouble fori” 

Mr. Prescott laughed. “Why, old woodsman,” 
he said, ‘ ‘ are you beginning already to dread get- 
ting back to civilization I Well, never mind; we 
can always come back again for the summer 
vacations. 

‘ ‘ And now for our walk along the river. ’ ’ With 
a good deal of anticipation, since the sound of its 


Along the Au Sable 


73 


waters had filled their ears invitingly since their 
arrival, father and son started out on a little jour- 
ney of exploration upstream along the Au Sable. 

Accustomed to the green, smooth banks of the 
Detroit Eiver, and the placid flow of that mighty 
stream, Bunty found the Au Sable was a change, 
to say the least. He was amazed at the antics and 
appearance of this little brawler, hurrying through 
the lonesome barrens to join Lake Huron, miles 
and miles away. So varied and sinuous was its 
course that it did not appear to do anything twice 
or for a very long period. 

Almost opposite their camp the river formed a 
pool fully fifty yards wide. There it rippled shal- 
lowly over sand and yellow stones. This place 
was a ford. The banks sloped gently, and the bed 
of the stream was firm beneath the feet of the 
horses. At most seasons of the year it was a 
‘‘carry” or portage, since there was no water to 
float even a canoe with two men. 

Near Pugh’s, upstream from camp, the banks 
became narrow and precipitous. The stream was 
confined in a narrow channel and ran like a mill- 
race. The choppy little waves on its surface were 
capped with foam. 

As they continued their walk the stream broad- 
ened again. Eocks stumps, and logs jutted from 


74 


Bunty Prescott 


its troubled surface. Eddies formed deep, black 
pools in whose shadows big trout lurked. 

A kingfisher, in an attitude of deep meditation, 
peered patiently into the water from an overhang- 
ing stub. Woodpeckers drummed hollowly on the 
dead trees back in the wilderness. A red squirrel, 
disturbed by their footsteps, scolded ill-naturedly 
in a jack pine as he peered after them with bright 
eyes. 

After a half mile of leisurely progress they sat 
down on a sunny rock to rest. Flies buzzed 
around them and zigzagged aimlessly over the 
surface of a backwater which lay cool and dim, 
almost at their feet. 

‘‘What are you thinking of, son?” asked Mr. 
Prescott, when they had been silent some minutes. 

“How I’d like to see a deer!” was the prompt 
response. 

“Well, they’re quite common hereabouts,” said 
his father. “Mr. Pugh says that at sunrise the 
other morning three of them, one a buck with 
great, wide antlers, came down to the east bank 
of the ford to drink. 

“Mr. Pugh was on this side. They saw him 
after awhile, but weren’t much afraid. They 
looked, sniffed, and then trotted quietly back into 
the scrub.” 

“Do you suppose Mr. Pugh will take us hunt- 


Along the Au Sable 


75 


ing with him when the season opens?’’ queried 
Bunty, instantly awake to the possibility. 

‘ ‘ I shouldn ’t wonder. Why ? Would you like to 
shoot a deer?” 

‘‘Indeed I would” cried the hoy. 

“Well, we must teach you to shoot first,” said 
his father. “But how would you like to see a 
good, big trout?” 

“I’d like to, daddy.” 

“I think, from some of the flickers I’ve noticed, 
there’s one in that pool. If we sit perfectly quiet, 
he’ll think we’ve gone away. Then he’ll begin 
popping up for flies. It’s getting along towards 
his suppertime. ”, ^ 

They settled themselves more comfortably, and 
waited with all the patience a fisherman is sup- 
posed to have, for a sight of the big fish. But 
either he was not hungry, or he was wary. Sev- 
eral times they were sure they had seen a quickly- 
moving shadow in the dark water. There was 
even a ripple once where nose or tail projected a 
tiny bit above the surface. But that was all. 

At last, when it was growing late, they were 
compelled to leave without a sight of the inhabi- 
tant of that particular pool. Nevertheless, their 
desire to see a big fellow in action was gratified. 

Just above Pugh’s, in a quiet place near the 
opposite shore, something cleaved the surface with 


76 


Bunty Prescott 


a msli that scattered drops of water like a foun- 
tain. The great body, glittering as though painted 
with many colors, went straight up for nearly two 
feet. Then the unlucky fly or bug had evidently 
been taken in by the traplike mouth. The trout 
turned in mid-air, came down with a lordly splash, 
and disappeared. 

‘‘A rainbow!’’ cried Mr. Prescott. ‘‘And he 
weighed four pounds if he weighed an ounce.” 
Bunty had voiced his excitement and delight by a 
whoop which waked the echoes. 

“While the rainbow trout is the larger,” said 
Mr. Prescott, when the ripples from the fish’s leap 
had died away and they had resumed their home- 
ward walk, “the speckled trout is more popular 
with sportsmen because he is gamier. I should 
prefer that your first one should be a rainbow. ’ ’ 

“Why, daddy?” 

“Because a rainbow is easier to land,” was the 
reply. “ He is thicker through the shoulders, and 
quite a little heavier. He is also less of a fighter, 
a little slower, and lacks the resourcefulness of his 
cousin. The speckled trout often gets away from 
experienced fishermen. 

“You see,” continued Mr. Prescott, “a true 
sportsman believes in giving the fish a chance for 
his life. That is why we fish with very light rods 
and lines. The gear is so fragile that an attempt 


Along the Au Sable 


77 


to pull even a small speckled trout straight out of 
the water by main strength alone is useless. 
Something would break, even if the trout’s mouth 
did not give way. 

‘^So when you hook your trout, you must ‘play’ 
him until he becomes exhausted or gets away. 
When he ‘strikes,’ or takes the fly, give him the 
line for his first panic-stricken rush. But just the 
moment he stops, or comes dashing back, reel in — 
fast. If he has too much line, he will surely 
tangle it. 

“When he finds he is securely hooked, he will 
dart back and forth. Sometimes he leaps clear of 
the water. He is like quicksilver. This desperate 
fight to be rid of the barb will try your strength 
and your wits to the utmost. It alone is what 
gives the fascination to trout fishing. You are 
putting yourself up against the courage and speed 
of this thoroughbred of the northern waters. 

“As he begins to tire, he will sulk, lying close 
to some rock or log. Don’t let him rest. Stir him 
up with sharp, quick jerks. When he responds, 
keep a strain on the line and reel in whenever you 
can, but cautiously. Don’t pull too strongly at 
any time or he may get free, trailing part of your 
tackle after him. 

“Always keep the tip of your rod raised a little. 
Then you have some spring to depend upon in 


78 


Bunty Prescott 


case of a sudden rush and a hard pull. With the 
tip down, there will be a dead, straight pull, and 
a light line cannot stand that. 

There is a ^drag’ on our reels, intended to 
make the line pay out with some difficulty during 
the rush of a fish. This tends to tire him more 
quickly. Many experts disregard the drag, and 
put the pressure on with the thumb alone as the 
line unwinds. 

‘‘I don’t believe you had better try to work the 
drag until you are more experienced. Too many 
details confuse a fellow. Just let him go when he 
wants to go ; reel him in when he stops ; keep the 
tip of your rod up; and don’t try to heave him 
straight out of the water as though he were a 
‘shiner.’ Do you think you can remember those 
points, old man?” 

‘ ‘ I guess so, daddy, ’ ’ said Bunty, who had been 
listening closely. ‘ ‘ But how do you land him when 
he gives up ? ” 

“I had quite forgotten that; you reel him in 
close and slip a dip net under him. Then, you see, 
if he is a big fellow the hook will not tear out. 
Often you can hold a fish in the water, hut when 
he is lifted clear his mouth gives way — and there 
is the empty hook laughing at you. ’ ’ 

Bunty heaved a sigh of anticipation. “When 
can we go fishing, daddy T 


Along the Au Sable 


79 


replied liis father, ^Hhis is Saturday; 
to-morrow is Sunday. Monday morning we ^11 
work a bit. So it ’ll be Monday afternoon, son. ’ ’ 


CHAPTER X 


THE FIKST CAMP FIRE 

It had been a beautiful day. Long after supper 
the light still lingered, as if reluctant to go. In 
the high, clear air of the wilderness, a pale radi- 
ance, the afterglow of the departed sun, was dif- 
fused. This long, hushed twilight is one of the 
charming features of the northern summer. 

But it faded out at last, and then they discerned 
that the Northern Lights had flung their banners 
to the sky. In a wide half-circle the soft blue 
velvet of the heavens was touched by quivering 
spears of purest white. Bunty gazed thoughtfully 
at the awe-inspiring display as they crossed the 
field from Pugh’s. 

The mystery and the peace of the scene took 
hold on his imagination. The peaceful sweep of 
the dusky, encircling wood ; the soothing murmur 
of the Au Sable ; their own tent glimmering faintly 
just ahead; and those shafts of trembling white 
fire above the tree tops — all were parts of this 
sweet, new life of the barrens. 

Throwing back his head, as he had on the sta- 
80 


The First Camp Fire 


81 


tion platform at Grayling, lie breathed deeply of 
the healing, pungent air. New life was already 
quickening in his veins. The hacking cough (since 
coughing is partially a matter of habit) had be- 
come less frequent. The buoyant spring, under 
the stimulus of new scenes and new experiences, 
was returning to his step already. Mr. Prescott, 
with a father’s quick eye, had noted the change 
and was glad. 

Daddy,” said Bunty when they had reached 
the camp, ‘^why don’t we see those Northern 
Lights in Detroit?” 

‘^Too many other lights, I imagine,” replied 
Mr. Prescott, ‘^for them to show up as plainly. 
The street arcs and the electric light towers, to 
say nothing of the lights from shop windows, 
create a glare beyond which it is hard to see. Our 
view is more restricted, too. Then the altitude is 
not so great down there.” 

‘ ‘ The altitude ? ’ ’ queried Bunty. 

^‘Yes. Grayling is but a short distance from 
the highest point in lower Michigan. Within a 
few miles of us is the watershed. They say that 
four rivers have their sources there or close by, 
and each flows in a different direction — one to 
Saginaw Bay, one to the Straits of Mackinac, one 
to Lake Michigan and one to Lake Huron. So yo_u 
see we are up in the world.” 


82 


Bunty Prescott 


The night air was cool and almost sharp. 
Father and son slipped into their Mackinaws, and 
the gaudy jackets felt grateful to their shoulders. 
Then, while Bunty drew the camp chairs out from 
under the fly, Mr. Prescott set about building a 
fire. 

There were plenty of odds and ends left from 
the making of the floor. He cut a little heap of 
shavings with his hunting knife. Around it, 
placed on end and slanting inward to a pyramid, 
were placed short pieces of boards and branches 
of dead pine. 

‘‘What a funny way to build a fire!’^ said 
Bunty, as his father touched a match to the 
shavings. 

“Yes, but watch it,’’ was the reply. 

The shavings blazed out freely, being protected 
from any chance breeze by the surrounding sticks. 
The sticks themselves soon caught the fire, too, 
and a cheerful camp fire was the result. 

“That is the Indian way of building a fire,” 
said Mr. Prescott. “It is successful in all sorts 
of wind and weather. The standing sticks form a 
sort of chimney and create a steady draft. A fire 
made of kindlings laid flat has no protection 
against the elements and is hard to light. 

“How, Bunty,” he continued, “we are in the 
heart of the wilderness. Except for Fox’s, there 


The First Camp Fire 


83 


is no house nearer Englishman’s Camp than Gray- 
ling. I am not counting the hunting and fishing 
clubs, for they are open but a few weeks of the 
year. In every other direction the distance is even 
greater to a house than it is to Grayling. 

‘‘If an inexperienced person is lost in these bar- 
rens, there is a chance of his dying of hunger and 
exposure even in summer. The danger is much 
greater at other seasons of the year.” 

He went into the tent and returned with two 
small packets. “We must always be prepared for 
the chance of getting lost. Here is a waterproof 
packet containing matches, a fishline and some 
hooks. Always keep it in your pocket. If you are 
ever lost you will need it badly. Eemember to 
keep it by you when you change your clothes. It 
may mean food and warmth some day. 

“And here is something almost as important. 
It is a compass and a strap to fasten it on your 
wrist.” He took Bunty’s left hand, and placed 
the brass-bound compass, similar in size and shape 
to a watch, upon it, face upward. Then he slipped 
the leather over it. 

The strap widened in the center and contained 
a circular opening through which the face of the 
compass could be seen. The strap buckled snugly 
on the back of the wrist. The center portion of 
the leather was molded to fit closely about the 


84 


Bunty Prescott 


compass. There was no possibility of the useful 
little article's slipping out. 

^‘It’s like a watch hand hung in the middle,” 
said Bunty as he turned his wrist gently and 
watched the needle swing back and forth. 

‘‘It is very delicately balanced,” said his father. 
‘ ‘ You will notice that one end of it has a tiny red 
dot upon it. That end always points to the north 
and the opposite end to the south. When you 
want to discover where north really is, turn the 
compass until the letter ‘N^ is directly beneath 
the dot. 

“All around the dial are other letters. N, E, 
S and W indicate north, east, south and west. 
The letters in lighter type represent subdivisions 
— north-northwest, northwest, west-northwest and 
so on. Now see if you can point east.” 

Bunty adjusted the compass and indicated east 
exactly. He underwent several other tests, until 
his father was satisfied that the boy understood 
the compass thoroughly. 

“Always remember,” said Mr. Prescott, “that 
the red dot means ‘north’ on your compass. On 
some instruments, the distinguishing mark points 
out the south. I have a lawyer friend who did a 
long day’s work for nothing last summer because 
he forgot a thing like that. 

‘ ‘ The mark on his compass indicated the north, 


The First Camp Fire 


85 


but be bad mislaid tbe instrument and borrowed 
another. He came to northern Michigan to locate 
some land which had been described to him as 
lying eight miles directly north of a certain sta- 
tion. The sun was hidden, he was traveling 
through wilderness, and he did not know that he 
was walking away from the land until he had 
completed the eight miles. 

‘‘But when he failed to recognize the land by 
the description given him, he remembered that he 
had been cautioned that the mark on the needle 
showed the south. So he had a walk of sixteen 
miles through deep sand for nothing.’’ 

“I suppose he was pretty surprised,” com- 
mented Bunty. 

“And disgusted, too. He was an experienced 
woodsman, and had been tramping the barrens for 
years. So you see it is no disgrace for one of us 
to make a mistake. 

“If you ever do get lost, old man, don’t get 
frightened. Keep your head and reason the thing 
out calmly. Sit down and fix in your mind the 
direction to camp or the nearest settlement. Then 
start carefully in that direction, consulting your 
compass every little way. If you have a gun, lay 
it down or lean it against a tree when you consult 
the compass. 

“That is to keep the compass true,” continued 


86 


Bunty Prescott 


Mr. Prescott, answering Bunty ’s look of surprise. 
‘‘Iron or steel too near the magnet is liable to 
influence it and cause it not to work right. 

“The compass is magnetized. One end of the 
magnet points to the north pole, the other to the 
south pole. Keep other magnets away from it. 
That is one reason why it is better to have the 
compass on your wrist than in your pocket, where 
the steel of your knife might influence it. ’ ’ 

“This living in the woods is a trade, isn’t it, 
daddy?” said the boy. 

“Indeed it is, son,” smiled Mr. Prescott, “and 
it is a trade with lots of things to learn in it. 

“If you are ever lost without your compass, 
bear in mind that moss grows on the north side of 
the trees. That will help you get your direction. 
To travel reasonably straight in the direction you 
want to go, take an extra step with your left foot 
every sixty steps.” 

“An extra step with my left foot every sixty 
steps! Are you joking, daddy?” 

“Indeed I’m not! A person naturally takes a 
little longer step with the right foot than with the 
left. Unless he is aware of it, he will wander to 
the left in a great circle, and come back to his 
starting point. One extra step in sixty would 
about equalize this in your case. 

“Eemember that crows and robins are never 


The First Camp Fire 


87 


very far from human beings. If you reach a 
stream in your wanderings, stick to it. There is 
sure to he some one living near it. If it is a small 
stream, go down with the current. Your chances 
grow better as the stream gets larger. Follow a 
blazed trail, unless it is very old. ’ ’ 

^‘What is a blazed trail T’ 

‘‘A path through the woods, indicated by axe- 
marks on the trees. The man who makes it chops 
off a piece of bark at about the height of his 
shoulder. These ‘blazes,’ as they are called, show 
the white wood beneath. It is easy to follow the 
trail from tree to tree. If the blaze is very, very 
old, it probably leads to an abandoned lumber 
camp. Otherwise, it will fetch you to a house or 
main road. 

‘ ‘ If you are compelled to stay out all night, build 
a fire and lie on the leeward side of it, opposite 
from where the wind comes.” 

“A fellow would get all smoked up,” objected 
Bunty. 

“But he wouldn’t be cold,” replied the father; 
‘ ‘ and the main thing, son, is to keep warm. ’ ’ 

He looked at his watch and gave a little whistle 
of astonishment. “After nine o’clock; I have 
been giving you a regular lecture on woodcraft.” 

“I liked it, daddy,” replied Biinty earnestly; 
“it was better than a story.” 


88 


Bunty Prescott 


‘ ^ Then I ’m going to quiz yon, as they do at col- 
lege, to see what yon have remembered. Go ahead 
and tell me what yon’d do if yon were lost in the 
woods.’’ . 

Bnnty obeyed, and proved conclnsively that he 
had listened well. Mr. Prescott saw that he was 
able to care for himself in any ordinary emer- 
gency, if he bnt kept cool. ^ ‘ Some other time, old 
man,” said his father, after complimenting Bnnty 
on his attention, ‘^we will talk abont it again. Bnt 
the fire is almost ont, and it’s bedtime.” 

‘‘May I wear my compass to bed, daddy?” 
qneried Bnnty as he rose. 


CHAPTER XI 


BUNTY MEETS THE FOXES 

Bunty found that a slat about two feet long had 
been nailed upright to each corner of his cot and 
of his father’s as well. Over these slats a mos- 
quito netting formed a canopy which fell to the 
floor on all sides. , 

^‘What do you think of your cage, old man?” 
smiled Mr. Prescott. 

think it’s good, daddy, ^‘replied the boy. 

Flies and things can’t come in and see us unless 
we want them, can they?” 

‘‘And we don’t want them, do we? The doctors 
say that mosquito-bites and flies walldng around 
on one bring all the malaria and fever to folks out 
in the woods like this. Besides, if you should want 
to sleep on a rainy day, the flies can’t bother you.” 

Bunty undressed and said his prayers. Then 
he studied his cot doubtfully. “Daddy,” he said 
finally, “how am I going to keep the blankets 
from slipping otf onto the floor? This bed is 
pretty narrow.” 

“You are going to roll up in your blankets like 
89 


90 Bunty Prescott 

a soldier,’’ explained his father. Which side do 
you sleep on?” 

snuggle down on my left side, but I turn 
over just before I forget. ’ ’ 

‘‘Well, that’s what I thought. These blankets 
are folded together lengthwise. You creep in so 
you are lying with half of them under, and the 
other half over you. When you lie on your left 
side, the opening will be at your back. But when 
you turn over, the opening will be in front. So 
you needn’t get cold, for you can draw the edges 
in about you.” 

Bunty crept in as his father had suggested, and 
Mr. Prescott gave a few touches to the bed and 
dropped the mosquito netting before retiring to 
his own cot. They talked for a few minutes, but 
Mr. Prescott smiled to himself when soon his 
words brought no reply. Bunty had drifted into 
a sound, dreamless sleep. 

The sun was peering over the pines along the 
river when he awoke next morning. His father 
had brought a pail of water from the stream, and 
Bunty, after putting on his best clothes in honor 
of Sunday, washed with considerable splashing on 
the “back porch.” Then they crossed the dew- 
wet fields to Pugh’s and had a delicious breakfast. 

They were sunning themselves in front of the 
tent an hour later when the bushes along the river 


Bunty Meets the Foxes 


91 


parted noiselessly and out stepped Eedbird. 
Bnnty would not have believed a person could 
move so softly, but he happened to be looking 
toward the spot where the Indian made his appear- 
ance. One moment, there was a leafy screen, 
quivering under a gentle breeze; the next, the 
branches spread as though the wind had become 
slightly stronger, and the red man appeared. It 
was so much like magic that Bunty almost felt 
tempted to rub his eyes. 

Eedbird advanced with a wide smile, his wet 
moccasins toeing in through the grass. ‘‘HowP^ 
he said cordially, shaking hands with father and 
son. He had observed the day by combing his 
long black hair until it shone in the sunlight. 
Also, he had stuck a feather in the band of his 
battered hat. 

Eefusing Mr. Prescott’s offer of a stool, he 
squatted on his heels before them. ‘‘Young Chief 
better,” he announced, after a critical glance at 
Bunty ’s face. “Eyes better, cheeks like straw- 
berry. U n-nh-hh 1 ’ ’ 

“He’s going fishing Monday,” announced Mr. 
Prescott. 

“Good. Big speckle jump” — Eedbird clapped 
his hands to show the speed of the trout — “then 
he jerk. Pull Young Chief into water, mebbeP’ 
He gave one of his silent laughs, in which Mr. 


92 


Bunty Prescott 


Prescott and even Bunty soon joined heartily. 

‘‘Well, that would be only fair if he did,^’ said 
Mr. Prescott. “Because Young Chief is going to 
try to pull him out of the water. ^ ^ 

“So,’’ agreed Eedbird. “I think Young Chief 
get ’um. Make big speckle mad. He tire all out 
bimeby. Then you haul ’um in.” 

“How is Mr. Fox’s barn coming, Eedbird?” 
queried Mr. Prescott. 

“Most done,” answered the Indian. “Log all 
cut. Fox comin ’ over to-day. See ! ’ ’ 

Mr. Fox had appeared at the opening of the 
bush which marked the entrance to Englishman’s 
Camp. He strode toward them, his keen woods- 
man’s eye taking in everything. “Old Black 
Fox, ’ ’ said Eedbird, with a grin. 

The settler had advanced a dozen paces when 
another figure stepped out of the brush-hidden 
road. It was Fox’s eldest son, a tall, slender 
young man of nineteen. He carried a rifle over his 
left arm. “Eed Fox,” announced Eedbird, much 
as a showman would introduce his actors. The 
name seemed to fit, for the youth had a shock of 
flaming red hair. A dozen paces behind him was 
a boy of seventeen, sturdily built and with a 
swarthy face. His black eyebrows met over his 
nose. He looked much like his father, and again 
Eedbird ’s smiling, “Young Black Fox,” was pat. 



The Fox family visits p]iiolishman’s Camp. 



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Bunty Meets the Foxes 


93 


Behind him was a blond youngster of about 
twelve years, whose fair skin was in strange con- 
trast to the other’s dark complexion. ‘‘Silver 
Fox,” said Eedbird, with a wave of his hand. 
Bringing up the rear was a boy about Bunty ’s own 
age — a round-faced youngster, plump as a par- 
tridge. His short legs twinkled as he vainly tried 
to imitate the long, easy stride of the others and 
still keep up with them. “Little Round Fox,” 
said Eedbird. “That’s all.” 

Mr. Fox stopped before them with affected sur- 
prise. “I thought I told you to work on that barn, 
Injun, ’ ’ he said, after he had greeted Mr. Prescott 
and Bunty. 

Eedbird shrugged his shoulders. “No work 
Sunday,” he replied. 

“No pay, then,” said the settler. 

“Put ’um barn on back, carry ’um Grayling,” 
grunted Eedbird, who was enjoying the banter 
fully, and they all laughed. 

As their elders talked together, the boys sur- 
rounded Bunty. “Hello, Young Chief,” said the 
blond boy. 

“Hello, Silver Fox,” returned Bunty, quickly, 
and the older boys laughed. 

“I can throw you,” declared Little Round Fox, 
advancing a pudgy leg. 

“But he can run faster than you,” said Red 


94 Bunty Prescott 

Fox, who did not think his brother’s remark very 
polite. 

‘‘Did yon ever see a league baseball game?” 
asked Young Black Fox. 

‘ ‘ Why, of course, ’ ’ returned Bunty, in surprise. 
“I’ve seen Detroit play ever so many times !” 

‘ ‘ Tell us about it ! ” they cried in chorus, drop- 
ping down in the grass in front of him. He was 
soon deep in a description of the game as it is 
played in the big cities. They hung open-mouthed 
on his words. Though they lived in the wilder- 
ness, they sometimes saw Detroit papers, and 
knew the names of the league stars. They played 
themselves, with a homemade yarn ball among the 
stumps at their home clearing. But a real game, 
with the players in uniform, using a “dollar-and- 
a-half” ball, and “wagon-tongue” bats, was quite 
beyond them. 

Bunty was quite a wonderful person to them, 
because of what he had seen. It did not occur to 
them that they were quite as wonderful to him, 
for they could hunt and fish as skillfully as Eed- 
bird. Even Little Bound Fox was a good rifle shot 
and a finished woodsman, who knew all the signs 
of the wilderness. He could go anywhere without 
a compass and not get lost. 

Dinnertime came all too soon, and Eedbird, Mr. 
Fox and the boys plunged into the bush and were 


Bunty Meets the Foxes 


95 


soon lost to view. But they were back in a conple 
of honrs. It never occurred to them to eat the 
meal at Englishman’s Camp (though invited to 
do so), when only two miles from home. 

On their return Bunty made the boys talk of 
their life. Now it was his turn to listen breath- 
lessly to stories of bird and deer and bear hunt- 
ing, of trout fishing on the Au Sable, of swimming 
in Lost Lake, which is in the wilderness across 
the stream, and of huckleberry picking in the 
marshes bordering the Grayling trail. When the 
sun had dropped behind the trees which formed 
the western boundary of their little park, and their 
visitors had gone, Bunty felt he had never known 
a shorter day. 

Again he sat with his father by the glowing 
camp fire and talked. But not for long. Neither 
could suppress his yawns; and it was still early 
when they had crawled beneath the mosquito net- 
tings and rolled up in their blankets. 

The next morning Mr. Prescott began a work 
which kept him busy forenoons for several weeks : 
cutting timber for the addition to the cabin and 
for the winter’s wood. Carrying the bright, new 
axe, and with Bunty following closely, he went 
into the scrub and cut down jack pine, cedar and 
tamarack. All sizes and lengths fell under the 
blows of the shining blade. Bunty amused him- 


96 


Bunty Prescott 


self by watching the flying chips, sniffing the 
fragrant woods odors, and hunting for ripe huckle- 
berries. Occasionally he saw a squirrel or a chip- 
munk. Once they flushed a partridge, which arose 
with a noisy whir of wings and flew swiftly away 
before their startled eyes. 

At noon they returned to camp with famous 
appetites. Mrs. Pugh seemed more than pleased 
at the way her warm biscuits and fried chicken 
disappeared. Mr. Pugh came in from one of his 
long trips up the river. He favored Mr. Prescott 
with a nod, and Bunty with a pat on the head. 

After an hour ^s rest they returned to camp, and 
as Mr. Prescott said, ‘‘prepared to go to house- 
keeping in earnest.^’ First he secured a spade 
from the cabin and dug a trench about the tents. 
From this trench two or three drains led to lower 
ground. Thus, in case of much rain, the tents 
would not be flooded, but the water would be car- 
ried away as fast as it fell. 

The rug in the sleeping tent was taken out and 
swept; the floors were carefully swept; and the 
bedding, which had been spread on the guy ropes 
to air, was taken in. When the beds had been 
made and the tents tidied up, the canvas home had 
taken on an air of snug cheerfulness that was 
wholly delightful. 


CHAPTER XII 

BUNTY^S FIRST TROUT 


By this time it was four o’clock, and the sky 
had become overcast. The breeze had died down, 
and there was a faint, low rumble of thunder from 
the south. Looks like rain, old man,” said Mr. 
Prescott, ‘^but we’ll leave the tents rolled up for 
a while longer. If the wind doesn’t blow, they 
may stay up all night as usual. 

‘Ht can’t hurt you any,” he continued, in 
answer to Bunty’s look of surprise. know that 
a good many people are afraid of ‘the night air.’ 
Well, night air is just the same as day air. We 
can’t get too much of either. And now let’s get 
on our hip boots; I believe the trout will bite 
until dark.” 

The boy joyfully set about getting ready for his 
first fishing trip. As they fitted the rods together, 
slipped the reels into place and strung the slender 
line through the little metal loops on each rod, 
Mr. Prescott asked Bunty to repeat his instruc- 
tions. This he did readily. 

As they were starting out, Mr. Prescott said, 
97 


98 


Bunty Prescott 


with a sly twinkle in his eye: ‘^Supposing we 
feared wind and rain would come while we were 
gone; how would you suggest preparing for itT^ 
‘‘Why, I^d roll down the tent and fasten it, 
daddy,’’ replied Bunty; “and then I’d tighten all 
the ropes good and tight. ’ ’ 

“You’d bring our happy little home down about 
our ears, son,” smiled his father. 

“Why I” cried the boy in surprise. 

“Because canvas and rope contract when they 
are wet, ’ ’ replied Mr. Prescott. ‘ ‘ Each fibre curls 
up so tightly that something has to give. Usually 
some of the stakes are pulled out of the ground, 
and a good puif of wind lays your tent flat. If the 
stakes hold, the tent may rip like an old drumhead. 
I have seen a tent slit from top to bottom by a 
shower. So in case it rains, loosen your ropes, 
don’t tighten them.” 

When they reached the river, Mr. Prescott drew 
forth his fly book and made careful selection. 
‘ ‘ They are fond of light-colored insects on a dark 
day, ’ ’ he explained, “ so we ’ll give them what they 
like. Here is a ‘coachman’ and his brother. Let’s 
try them. ’ ’ He took two of the lifelike, cunningly 
planned flies from the book, and attached one to 
Bunty ’s line and one to his own. The sharp barb 
of the hook was hidden in the feathery white body 
of the “coachman.” 


Bunty^s First Trout 


99 


They were near the cabin. Mr. Prescott looked 
thoughtfully over the broad, rippling expanse of 
the ford, and then said: ‘‘We will wade upstream, 
old man. You keep within a rod of the shore. I 
will go farther in. Just whip the stream. The 
fish will take the fly by the time it reaches the 
water, or before, if he is going to take it at all. 
A dozen casts or so should prove whether the 
‘coachman’ is any good in this light.” 

“But, daddy,” said Bunty, “I don’t see how we 
can catch any fish here! See how shallow it is; 
why, it wouldn’t hide a minnow.” 

His father smiled. “Don’t you worry, old man,” 
he replied. “The big fellows like this shallow 
water. And sometimes they lie in pockets where 
you’d think there wasn’t a spoonful. Now, in 
we go.” 

Though it was not deep, the water ran swift and 
strong. It tugged at their boots, and made each 
step hard to take. Bunty ’s heart beat with excite- 
ment as he made his first cast, even though he felt 
sure there were no fish about. 

The line settled lightly on the water and the 
“coachman” sank out of sight. The fly was not 
attacked, and he drew it forth again. Once more 
the line and fly were thrown gently forward among 
the flecks of hurrying foam. But there was no 
“strike.” 


100 


Bunty Prescott 


They advanced about fifty yards, without result. 
Bunty thought at times there were tiny ripples 
ahead not caused by stones in the river bed, but 
he could not be sure. For a time it seemed they 
were the only living things in the river. Then a 
half-grown trout darted past him with the speed 
of light. That encouraged him. There were fish 
in that river, and he was going to have one ! 

Presently his father beckoned him to stop. 
Wading over, he replaced the lure on their lines 
with white millers.’’ Then they resumed their 
journey upstream. As the fiy rose and fell with- 
out result Bunty decided the sport was getting 
tame. His legs ached from the butfeting of the 
current, and the coldness of the water was 
changing his feet to lumps of ice. 

Just ahead the stream became slightly deeper. 
The eddies had carried away the sand from about 
a big stump. The hurrying water showed a deeper 
brown than where it ran over the shingle. One 
who had long fished for trout would have known 
that the stump was a good lurking-place for trout 
and would have come up carefully. But Bunty, 
who was beginning to wish himself on the bank, 
splashed along noisily. He made a poor cast while 
glancing over to see what his father was doing. 

The next moment he forgot that his feet were 
cold and that his arms ached. As his fly struck 


Bunty^s First Trout 


101 


the water, there was a splash, as if some one had 
tossed in a stone. There was a tremendons tug; 
Bnnty was caught off his balance, and the next 
instant he was floundering in the cold water. So 
unexpected and strong was the tug that even his 
face was under water for a moment. 

As the boy struggled, dripping and puffing, to 
get back to his feet again, jerk after jerk caused 
the rod to slap the stream with loud smacks. It 
was all he could do to keep it from being torn from 
his grasp. The trout dashed hither and yon, madly 
seeking escape. The reel zipped as the line ran 
out. Fortunately the fish did not rush back toward 
him, but worked to reach the partially sunken 
stump. 

Clinging desperately to the rod, the boy man- 
aged to scramble to his knees and then to his feet 
as his father came splashing hurriedly to him. 
^^Want some help, old manF’ queried Mr. Pres- 
cott. Bunty shook his head. Breath was too pre- 
cious to use for talking — but he was going to land 
that fish ! 

The battle began in earnest. The boy stood, 
leaning to the current a little, with feet planted 
wide apart. He tried to guess which way the 
monster would dart next. He caught no glimpse 
of the fish; but he felt, from the way it jerked, 
that it must be as large as himself. Eemembering 


102 


Bunty Prescott 


his father’s caution, he kept the tip of the rod up. 
Every time the trout slacked, he reeled in. 

Would it never tire? Back and forth, back and 
forth the captive zigzagged, minute after minute. 
The dashes were as vigorous as ever. Bunty tried 
to check and weary him by putting a ‘^drag” on 
the outgoing line with his thumb. He was aware, 
dimly, that the thumb hurt after awhile. The 
trout continued to steal a little more line with 
each rush. At last it gained the goal for which it 
had been striving — the big stump — and dived into 
the black hole beneath it. 

There the prisoner sulked. Cunningly he had 
caused the line to fall over a root, easing Bunty ’s 
pull. The boy reeled in until a dangerous strain 
was placed upon the line. The fish did not budge. 

There was a minute’s lull while they rested, 
Bunty breathing heavily. Mr. Prescott stood well 
back in the stream. He understood that his son 
wanted to conquer the trout alone, and otfered no 
advice. The trout stayed sullenly beneath the 
stump. Bunty, keeping the line taut, wondered 
what to do next. 

Presently an idea came to him. Two or three 
sharp jerks brought no stir from the fish. It was 
as though the hook was fast in the stump. So 
he swung out to the east, toward the center of the 
stream, and increased the strain on the line. The 


Bunty^s First Trout 


103 


line slipped off the detaining root, and the fish, 
taken at a new angle, was forced to action. Out 
he came into open water. 

His past efforts to escape seemed weak com- 
pared with the speed and strength now displayed. 
Eepeatedly he rushed away until every foot of the 
long line was out. Then he would come back like 
a bullet while Bunty reeled in frantically. Twice 
when brought up short he leaped into the air, dart- 
ing away at an angle as he splashed into the water 
again. He tried to tangle or foul the line. But 
Bunty managed to keep him from doing so. 

The boy was tiring fast. His feet ached from 
the cold water, and his legs seemed ready to double 
under him. His arms, from the constant jerking, 
seemed half pulled from the sockets. He wanted 
to drop the rod, wade ashore, and throw himself, 
sobbing, into the long grass. But something kept 
him from doing so. His father gave him an occa- 
sional word of cheer and encouragement, to which 
he responded with a weak smile. 

At last, in his mad efforts to be free, the trout 
made a fatal mistake. He flashed through the 
water in a wide half-circle, until he was down- 
stream from his captor. At once his efforts 
seemed to lose their power. The battering of the 
swift current and Bunty ’s reeling in on the line 
were too much for him. His struggles grew fainter 


104 


Bunty Prescott 


and fainter as the choppy waves struck him, 
taking away his strength. 

The discovery that he was winning put new life 
into Bunty. He drew in on the line until the trout 
was scarcely six feet from the end of his pole. 
Mr. Prescott noted the surrender, too, and hur- 
ried over. When he was directly downstream from 
his son, he sang out : ‘ ‘ Let go your reel, Bunty ! ’ ^ 

The swift current carried the fish downstream 
as the line paid out. Too late the captive saw his 
danger. With a last protesting flop, he was 
scooped up in the wide-mouthed net ! Bunty had 
fought his first trout, and won. 


CHAPTER XIII 


MK. PKESCOTT BECOMES A CAKPENTER 

Bunty did not have time to wonder how he 
would get ashore. Mr. Prescott, after slipping the 
trout into his creel, which hung from his shoulder, 
took his son’s rod. Then Mr. Pugh, who had 
waded in unseen by Bunty, swung the hoy easily 
to his shoulder. ‘ ‘ Good man, ’ ’ said the quiet Eng- 
lishman, and Bunty glowed with pride at the two 
words. Coming from Mr. Pugh they meant much. 

Mr. Prescott hurried to the tent and got dry 
clothing ready. Then, undressing the boy, he 
rubbed him down with a coarse towel until Bunty 
was in a delightful glow. By the time the fresh 
clothes had been donned, Mr. Pugh was back from 
his house with a pair of scales and a tape measure. 
The trout, a beautiful slaty-brown fellow with 
green speckles on his smooth back and sides, was 
lifted out of the basket to he weighed and meas- 
ured. Bunty felt a pang of pity when he saw that 
the jaws of his gallant foe were still moving 
feebly. He felt that pang many times afterwards, 
and it served to keep him from being cruel and 
105 


106 


Bunty Prescott 


wasteful. It was fun to hunt and fish — ^but it was 
too bad to take the lives of the pretty, wild things 
of the woods and streams ! 

“Well, old man,’^ smiled Mr. Prescott, “you’re 
a real fisherman. ‘ ‘ He ’s fourteen inches long, and 
weighs a pound and a quarter. Anyone would be 
proud of him. It took you twelve minutes to land 
him, but you played him like a veteran. I don’t 
believe Mr. Pugh, here, could have done it better. ’ ’ 

“That’s right,” agreed the fisherman heartily. 
“Would you like to have him for supper?” 

Bunty clapped his hands, pity forgotten in the 
discovery that he was very hungry. “Oh, may 
I?” he questioned eagerly. 

Mr. Pugh nodded. 

“You’ve worked enough for to-day,” said Mr. 
Prescott. ‘ ‘ Suppose you sit on the bank and watch 
me? I’m going to try to catch enough for all 
of us.” 

Bunty readily agreed. He felt more like sitting 
still than wading in the cold stream just then. 
Besides, the whizzing line, when the fish was first 
hooked, had worn a groove in his thumb in which 
the blood showed red. So, with Mr. Pugh for a 
companion, he took his place on the yielding turf, 
and watched with keen interest while his father 
caught four more speckled beauties in half an 
hour. Then he helped dress the fish. 


Mr, Prescott Becomes a Carpenter 107 

Mrs. Pugh rolled them in flour and fried them 
deliciously. It was a proud moment when she set 
the boy’s plate before him and said, ‘‘There’s 
your trout, Bunty! Now eat him all up.” It is 
needless to say he tried his best to obey the 
command. 

Soon after supper a drizzling rain began to fall. 
There was no wind with it, so the tents were left 
rolled up. They retired early, after loosening the 
guy ropes and making sure that the trench about 
the tents was open. 

The gentle patter of the rain woke them next 
morning, and it continued almost without pause 
for three days. Work in the woods would be very 
uncomfortable, so Mr. Prescott took Mr. Pugh’s 
horse and wagon and brought to camp a load of 
trees he had cut down. They ranged in thickness 
from four to twelve inches, and some were twenty 
feet long. 

“Now, old man,” he announced, “we are going 
to do some carpenter work. We need quite a bit 
of furniture. Do you suppose you and I can 
build it!” 

“Well, daddy, we can try,” answered the boy, 
cheerfully. 

Mr. Prescott brought out his saw, hammer, 
auger and some nails. Then he carried one of the 
poles under the fly and fell to work. “First we 


108 


Bunty Prescott 


need a couple of easy chairs,” he explained. ‘‘A 
camp stool is all right, but a chap can’t lean back 
and take comfort in it. ’ ’ 

He sawed two four-foot lengths from the pole. 
On the inside of each were bored three holes two 
inches deep — one near the top, one three inches 
below the middle and one five inches from the bot- 
tom. Then three stout, straight maple limbs were 
secured and from them pieces about two inches in 
diameter and twenty-two inches in length were cut. 
The ends of these three pieces were shaved down 
so that they could be driven into the auger-holes, 
though fitting very tightly. When they were in 
place, Mr. Prescott had a ladder with sides four 
inches through, and three stout rungs in it. 

Next he sawed oif the bottom of the sides so 
that the ladder would not stand upright, but 
leaned back almost halfway between the perpen- 
dicular and the horizontal — at an angle of 125 
degrees. To hold it in that position, two supports 
about three inches thick were cut and nailed into 
notches just above the center of the uprights, at 
the back. These supports were about twenty- 
eight inches long, and there was a similar dis- 
tance between their lower ends and the lower 
ends of the uprights. ^ ■ 

The frame of the chair now resembled two 
copies of the letter ‘‘Y” turned upside down and 


Mr. Prescott Becomes a Carpenter 109 

standing side by side with three rungs between 
them, the ^‘Ys^^ being eighteen inches apart. 
Once more the anger was brought into play and 
a hole was bored in the front, below the center 
of each upright. Into each hole a piece of sapling 
eighteen inches long and carefully smoothed was 
driven for an arm rest. These arm rests were 
each braced by a bit of wood extending down 
from the end to the slanting main timber — ^thus 
completing a triangle. 

The framework was now practically complete, 
but to make the chair stronger, pieces of board 
were nailed from the bottom of each upright to 
the bottom of its support on the outside. Mr. 
Prescott next produced a roll of heavy canvas 
and cut from it a strip six feet long and eighteen 
inches wide. Mrs. Pugh hemmed the raw edge 
on her sewing machine, so there was not a loose 
thread anywhere. 

The upper and lower ends of the canvas were 
now securely fastened with long, heavy tacks to 
strips of board each twenty-four inches long. 
One of these boards was nailed across the top 
of the two uprights, at the back. The canvas was 
dropped down over the top two rungs, but under 
the bottom one, and the other strip was nailed 
to the uprights at the bottom. The chair was 
complete. 


110 


Bunty Prescott 


<<Try it, old man,’’ invited Mr. Prescott, and 
Bunty sat down in it. He found that the canvas 
made a soft but firm support for his back, and 
that the middle rung held his knees comfortably. 
Because of the slant of the uprights it was almost 
a reclining chair. 

^‘Why, daddy,” said Bunty delighted, ‘4t’s 
almost as good as your Morris chair at home. ’ ’ 
‘Ht’s a trifle big for you, though,” replied Mr. 
Prescott. built it for myself. Yours will be 
smaller, so you can reach the lower rung with 
your heels. The canvas goes under that rung, 
instead of over it, so as to give a chap a foot 
rest.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


KEDBIED DECIDES TO MOVE 

Bunty’s chair was next built, and it fitted him 
exactly. Then Mr. Prescott added a table to their 
supply of furniture. It was simple in construc- 
tion but strong and durable. The legs were thick 
pieces of pine, twenty-eight inches long. They 
were ranged upright in rectangular form, and 
nailed in position by pieces of board flush with 
the top. Across this framework other boards, cut 
in equal lengths, were nailed. Thus was formed 
a table with smooth, even surface, thirty by forty- 
two inches. It was strengthened by pieces of 
board joining the legs near the bottom. 

Though their cots were quite comfortable, Mr. 
Prescott decided that something more nearly 
approaching a bed would be better for long use. 
So next he built a bunk for each of them. 

These bunks were started much as the table 
had been, but the legs were only eighteen inches 
high. The tops were enclosed by boards about 
the edges, so that each became a shallow box nine 
inches deep. The bunks were thirty inches wide, 
111 


112 


Bunty^ Prescott 


and Mr. Prescott’s was seven feet long, while 
Bnnty’s was five and a half feet long. 

The bunks were left out under the fly until the 
rainy days had passed. Then, after they had been 
thoroughly dried in the sun, the boxlike tops were 
filled with branches of the pungent balsam fir 
and with long, fragrant grasses until each was 
heaping full. Blankets were then spread over the 
soft masses and tucked in well at the sides. The 
result was beds ‘^fit for a king,” Mr. Prescott 
declared. 

good many people,” he told Bunty, ‘Hhink 
they must be uncomfortable when they camp out, 
or they will be missing some benefit. But I 
believe in being just as cosy as though we were 
at home. To be strong, we have to eat and sleep 
well. I ’m doing both. How about you, old man 1 ’ ’ 

‘‘Oh, daddy, you know I am!” returned Bunty 
with a long-drawn sigh of contentment. 

‘ ‘ How ! ’ ’ 

Father and son turned with a start at the word. 
There, under the fly and outlined against the bril- 
liant sunshine which had followed seventy hours 
of rain, stood Eedbird, smiling at them. He had 
come over from Fox’s, in his usual noiseless 
fashion, to visit them. 

Mr. Prescott was about to nail the bits of board 
upright at the corners of their beds for the sup- 


Redhird Decides to Move 


113 


port of the mosquito netting when Eedbird 
appeared. The Indian noted it, and without wait- 
ing for a reply to his greeting, he raised his hand 
and said, ‘ ‘ No ; wait. ^ ’ Then he turned and strode 
away to the fringe of trees along the river bank. 

He was back presently with four long willow 
withes. Taking some bits of buckskin from his 
pocket, he lashed two of these withes to each bed, 
one across the head, and the other just above the 
middle. Over them he draped the nettings, 
which gave the beds the appearance of prairie 
schooners. Then he stood back to admire his 
work. 

‘‘That’s a better way than mine, Eedbird,” 
said Mr. Prescott, pleased. “Where did you learn 
it and what do you call it?” 

“Him travoy,” returned Eedbird, tersely; 
“Injun way.” He squatted on his heels under 
the fly. 

“How’s the barn, Eedbird?” inquired Bunty. 

“Barn, he done,” was the reply. “Old Black 
Pox gimme heap money. Eedbird no work now, 
two — three moons. Hunt — fish. Show Little 
White Chief ketchum heap trout, chase deer. 
Un-nh-hh?” 

He looked from father to son as he spoke, and 
his grunt was plainly a question. Bunty was the 
first to catch his meaning, and clapped his hands 


114 


Bunty Prescott 


delightedly. ^‘Oh, daddy/’ lie cried; ‘‘he wants 
to stay at the camp here with ns! Wouldn’t that 
be just fine? Tell him he can — please, daddy!” 

“You want to stay with us?” asked Mr. 
Prescott. 

Eedbird nodded vigorously, meanwhile grunting 
affirmatively. 

“But where would you sleep?” 

The Indian swept his right arm in a careless 
circle. “Anywhere, when she no storm; rain, in 
Englishman’s barn.” 

Pugh, on being consulted by Mr. Prescott, 
expressed himself as being in favor of the plan. 
Eedbird was a good, trustworthy fellow, he said, 
who would watch over Bunty and teach him wood- 
craft. The Indian had often slept in his barn 
before, and had never stolen anything. 

So Eedbird was invited to come. He went to 
Grayling next day and secured his scanty belong- 
ings. Then he cleared himself a comfortable 
space in the barn. Mr. Prescott gave him one of 
the cots, of which he seemed very proud. It was 
not for several weeks, however, that they dis- 
covered that he did not sleep on the cot. To him 
it was a choice ornament, not a thing for use, 
and he spent his nights rolled up in a blanket 
beside it. 

The Indian built him a kitchen of poles and 


Redhird Decides to Move 115 

bark on the edge of the clearing and there cooked 
his own meals. Most of his food he shot or 
snared or caught. He utterly refused to take 
money from Mr. Prescott, but Bunty could 
persuade him to accept a small sum weekly. 

In a few days he had made himself a place in 
their lives, and father and son grew to depend 
upon him and to trust him wholly. During the 
months of their stay in the north country he was 
never separated from Bunty for more than a few 
hours at a time. 


CHAPTEE XV 


GETTING THE SOUVENIES 

It was on the Saturday after Eedbird’s coming 
that Hugo bethought himself of the list which Billy 
Anderson had given him before leaving Detroit. 
It contained the things, he knew, which his boy 
and girl friends wanted as souvenirs of the north 
country. So, settling himself comfortably in his 
easy-chair under the fly, he unfolded the soiled 
sheet of paper. 

Billy’s strong point had never been spelling, 
and for that and other reasons the list is worth 
copying just as he wrote it : 

Beer Hugo : — 

Here are the soovenears witch we want you to 
get up north if you can. Don't be to partikler 
about the girls, they don't no wat they want, 
ennyway. But ennything marked s thats for 
shure, get them because theare for some of the 
fellers. 

A bo narrer (s) it's for me. Be sure to get it. 

A neegal's f ether to ware wen we play Injun 
and cowboy, (s) For Bobby Smith. 

116 


Getting the Souvenirs 117 

BuJcskin tongs with witch to tie the captiv to 
the stalk, (s) For Joe Lemon. 

Awtum leves red and yellow. For Ethel 
A pare of mogasuns for Susie Brown, (s) 1 
walked home with her last nite, 

A tomyhauk (s) for Harold Munson. 

War paints for all of uss. (sss) 

Some Injun skalps to hang at our belts (s) 

A fur kap for Nellie Bright. 

Some burchhark ritinpaper. For Maude Preston, 
ThaFs all. 

Send them to me, expres, and 1 will give 
them out. 

Yours truely, 

William Brooks Anderson, 

So puzzling was Billy’s spelling that Mr. Pres- 
cott had to be called in to assist in translating. 
Eedbird happened along and squatted on his heels 
to listen while the corrected list was read off : ‘ ‘ A 
bow and arrow; an eagle’s feather to wear when 
we play Indian and cowboy ; buckskin thongs with 
which to tie the captive to the stake; autumn 
leaves, red and yellow; a pair of moccasins for 
Susie Brown; a tomahawk; war paints; Indian 
scalps; a fur cap; and birch bark for writing 
paper.” 

This assortment of articles seemed to please 


118 


Bunty Prescott 


Eedbird immensely. He chuckled at the various 
items, and when Mr. Prescott read about the 
scalps, he laughed outright. ‘‘Little White Chief’s 
friend heap funny,” he said. “Like to see um. 
Eedbird help git um presents?” 

“I wish you would, Eedbird,” said Mr. Pres- 
cott. “Of course I am willing to pay for any of 
them ” 

Eedbird shook his head. “No pay,” he 
interrupted. “Just one can’t git, though.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Scalps; Injun no stand still!” and he 
chuckled again. 

With Bunty, much interested, attending him, 
Eedbird at once set out to get the souvenirs. He 
started at the top of the list. From his quarters 
in the barn he secured two strips of hickory, each 
about a yard long. They were straight, free from 
knots, and evidently intended for the purpose to 
which they were put. With a few strokes of his 
stout hunting knife, Eedbird made a notch at each 
side of the ends of the bows, for that is what they 
were to be. 

He measured oif two lengths of stout fishline, 
cut them, put a loop in each end, and fitted them to 
the bent strips of hickory. The bows were now 
complete. Then he rapidly whittled out a dozen 
pine arrows about two feet long. The heads were 


Getting the Souvenirs 


119 


thick and blunt, and would carry the arrows true 
on their course for several yards. 

^‘What did you make two bows forT’ queried 
Bunty. Billy Anderson only asked for one.’’ 

‘‘Don’t Little White Chief want his?” queried 
Eedbird, in turn, apparently very much surprised. 

‘ ‘ Why, Eedbird ! ’ ’ cried the boy, delighted. ‘ ‘ Is 
one really and truly for me? Thank you so 
much. ’ ’ The copper-colored man showed his pleas- 
ure at Bunty ’s thanks by prodding his little friend 
with his thumb as he had the day of their first 
meeting at Grayling. 

“What next?” he asked. 

“A neeg — I mean an eagle’s feather,” 
announced Bunty, from the list. 

Eedbird shook his head. “Dunno,” he said. 
“Eagle round here many moons ago. No see him 
for two snows now. Big bald feller. He live on 

Sable Knob ” pointing to a hill which reared 

its blue head far to the north “but mebbe 

dead now. Mebbe my people have feather. I see. 
What next?” 

“Buckskin thongs.” 

“Good.” Eedbird fumbled in his pockets and 
brought out four lengths of twisted buckskin 
which he handed to Bunty. They were just the 
thing for tying the captive, as Hugo realized. 
Before, they had always used clothesline when 


120 


Bunty Prescott 


about to burn a prisoner at the stake, and that 
did not seem real at all. The ‘ ‘ stake was a tree 
in the Prescott back yard. The place of the pris- 
oner would be a proud one now. To be tied with 
real buckskin! 

‘‘Autumn leaves, red and yellow,’’ said Bunty, 
as he laid the thongs beside the bow and arrow. 

The Indian shook his head again. “No can 
get,” he announced. “No frost for three moons. 
Get something else, mebbe. Come.” 

He plunged into the jack pines, walking at ran- 
dom, it seemed, for about a hundred yards. Then 
he dropped to his hands and knees and in a few 
minutes had picked a great bunch of tiny shrubs. 
Among the bright green leaves of the plant nestled 
crimson berries that gave off a pleasant odor. 
They were wintergreen berries, though Bunty did 
not know it. 

Eising, the Indian went a little farther, to add 
pretty sweet ferns to his bouquet. Next, as surely 
as though he carried a map of the whole vast wil- 
derness in his mind, he struck off again. In five 
minutes he had reached some bushes whose broad 
green leaves were curiously mottled with round 
patches of yellow. Then they went back to camp. 

“Now what?” demanded Eedbird, when Hugo 
had expressed his admiration for the bouquet. 

“Moccasins for Susie Brown.” 


Getting the Souvenirs 


121 


The Indian nodded. ‘‘Um. How beeg?^’ 

‘‘ ’Most as tall as I am,” returned Hugo. 

The Indian grinned. ‘ ‘ I mean how heeg feet ? ’ ’ 
About so long,” announced Hugo, measuring 
oft a small space, after a careful study of his 
own shoes. 

‘‘Good. Get um my people. What next?” 

“A tomahawk.” 

The hunting knife was brought forth again. 
Eedbird seized a length of pine board, and soon 
had whittled out a very businesslike tomahawk. 
Mr. Pugh had some paint in the barn, and with 
this the Indian decorated it. Afterwards, the 
weapon, splendid in stripes of green and white, 
was hung up to dry. “Not real, but mebbe boy 
like um because Injun made um, ’ ’ he said shrewdly 
to Bunty, and to this Little White Chief readily 
agreed. 

“Now?” 

“War paints,” said Bunty. 

“Get um on Sable,” again pointing to the 
northern hill. “ Now ? ” 

“Why — why,” he stammered, embarrassed, 
“you see, Billy asked for those Indian scalps.” 

“No can get,” returned Eedbird, with a sly 
smile. “Scalp keep Injun’s head warm in beeg 
snow. No give um up. Shall I ketch um asleep—? 
cut scalp off?” 


122 


Bunty Prescott 


‘^No, no!’’ cried Bunty, with such lively horror 
that Eedbird laughed outright and explained that 
he was only joking. 

The Indian thought a moment and then his eyes 
brightened. ‘‘I know,” he declared; ‘‘find some- 
thing on Sable. Now what?” 

“A fur cap for Nellie Bright.” 

This, to Bunty, seemed almost as difficult to 
get as the scalps. But it did not bother Eedbird. 
From his store in the barn he produced a glossy 
otterskin. “Mees Inglesman,” he said, and went 
to the Pugh home, the skin in his hand. Joint 
explanations from Hugo and the Indian enlisted 
her aid. Soon her nimble fingers had fashioned 
a cunning little cap. It was from Mrs. Pugh, too, 
that a great roll of birch bark “writing paper” 
was secured. 


CHAPTEE XVI 


A VISIT TO SABLE KNOB 

Mr. Prescott and the silent Englishman listened 
with amusement at dinner to Bnnty^s descriptions 
of the souvenir hunting. They were interested, 
too, and praised Eedhird^s efforts. 

Pugh offered the loan of his horse and buck- 
board for a trip to Sable Knob, where Eedbird 
could search for the eagle feather, the paints, and 
the other present which was to take the place of 
the scalps. 

Bunty was delighted at the prospect of a jour- 
ney to the stately hill. He seemed amply strong 
for such a trip, so Mr. Prescott decided to make 
it. When they told Eedbird, he seemed glad that 
they were going with him. So, after spending a 
quiet Sunday at home, they started bright and 
early Monday morning. 

The air was crisp and cool, and Bunty ’s Macki- 
naw did not seem a bit too heavy as they 
clambered into the buckboard. The stout, patient 
horse struck into a slow trot as he left the clear- 
ing and turned into a track which led through the 
123 


124 


Bunty Prescott 


fragrant scrub. To the east, the sun peered 
cheerily at them over the ridge of hills. 

Eedbird rode for about half a mile. Then, with 
a grunt of apology, he vaulted over the wheel. 
Pointing straight ahead as their course, he went 
into the scrub. During the journey, which lasted 
until noon, he was constantly ranging back and 
forth through the wilderness. The road was 
deserted, and they saw no houses, though once a 
curl of smoke far to the west indicated a settler’s 
cabin. 

Mrs. Pugh had put up a bountiful lunch, and 
they stopped when the sun was highest to eat it. 
Eedbird had led the way to a little spring, cold, 
and clear as crystal, which bubbled out of the 
ground at the foot of Sable Knob. They took 
refreshing draughts of the water as did Pierre, 
the horse, who was tethered near with his bundle 
of hay. 

Bunty was impatient to continue their quest 
and so, after half an hour’s rest, they began climb- 
ing the hill. The Indian directed their steps 
toward a ridge of bare sand which shone yellow 
through the underbrush. 

The surface of the ridge was covered with loose 
stones, large and small and of various colors. 
Eedbird began selecting thin, flat ones, somewhat 
the size and shape of a lady’s watch, until he had 


A Visit to Sable Knob 


125 


a dozen of them — red, brown, blue, yellow and 
white. The pebbles were smooth to the touch, and 
had none of the flinty hardness of field stones. 
In fact, they could be broken between the fingers. 

‘‘War paint, said the Indian. He touched one 
of the blue stones to his tongue, and drew the 
moistened spot across the back of his hand. A 
thick, blue mark was the result. He tested each 
of the stones in this manner, tossing away one 
which was too hard to leave a trace. The balance, 
however, proved to be natural crayons. So 
another souvenir was supplied. 

“Eagle’s nest, now,” announced their guide, 
and they set otf for the summit. 

It was a long, hard climb of several minutes, 
and though they stopped frequently to rest, both 
Bunty and his father were glad to throw them- 
selves down on the yielding turf when the goal was 
reached. 

About them spread a scene of lonesome beauty. 
There seemed to be no level land anywhere, the 
earth being thrown up as far as the eye could see, 
like the frozen waves of a vast blue ocean. Jack 
pine hills met the horizon on every side. To the 
eastward a crooked belt of heavy timber marked 
the course of the Au Sable. 

The Indian was not in the least distressed by the 
ascent. He breathed no more rapidly than if he 


126 


Bunty Prescott 


had been walking on level ground. Without dela^ 
he made preparations to climb to the eagle's 
aerie. 

The nest had been located in the top of a huge 
dead pine which crowned the summit of the 
hill. This stub was fully seventy feet in height. 
It had been splintered by lightning, and a mass 
of thick, weather-beaten sticks, protruding in 
every direction from the top, added to its wild 
appearance. 

Eedbird measured the smooth, dead trunk a 
moment with his eyes. Then he gave his trousers 
a hitch, encircled the tree — or as much of it as he 
could — ^with his arms, and began to climb. He 
used arms, legs, hands and moccasined feet in the 
task and made rapid progress. 

Though soon within reaching distance of the 
nest, he did not stop to explore it. With one 
vigorous thrust of his hand he overturned the mass 
of sticks, sending it clattering to the ground. Then 
he rapidly descended by sliding down the trunk. 

Bunty 's eager search of the remains of the 
nest yielded only disappointment. The eagles 
either had left their haunts two years before, as 
Redbird declared, or had been killed and their 
bodies carried off by hunters. Only a few short, 
bedraggled bits of feathers had remained in the 
nest. Wind and rain had destroyed all long ones. 


A Visit to Sable Knob 


127 


‘‘Never mind,” said Redbird, consolingly. “Get 
um some other place. Come.^’ 

They had climbed the hill from the south side, 
but now he turned at right angles to their course, 
going down the eastern slope. Following close 
at his heels, father and son came presently to a 
strange sight. 

Some distance down from the summit, they 
worked through a thick fringe of underbrush into 
an amphitheater possibly one hundred yards 
across. The tiny bowl was shut in on every side 
by higher ground. No trees grew on the level, 
springy turf, and the heavy border of vegetation 
gave the place an air of seclusion and mystery. 
It seemed to prepare one for the unusual. 

And the scene which it presented was unusual. 
The grass was everywhere dotted with the bleach- 
ing bones of animals. Skeletons of raccoons, 
foxes, deer and even bears, each on its own bit of 
sward, greeted the eye. They seemed to be 
arranged in some sort of order, for in one part 
there were several sets of deer horns quite close 
together. Likewise the bears had a corner to 
themselves. 

‘ ‘ Come here to die, ’ ’ said Redbird, with a sweep- 
ing gesture of his arm about the enclosure. 
‘ ‘ When um shot, or sick, or too old, head for Sable 
and lie down. No leave again; always die here.^’ 


128 


Bunty Prescott 


‘‘I have read of such things,’’ said Mr. Pres- 
cott, ^^but 1 never saw an animal burying-ground 
before. To tell the truth, I hardly believed dumb 
beasts had so wonderful an instinct.” 

often thought of what became of the old 
bears and deer, daddy,” said Hugo. ‘‘In the cold 
winter, when there isn’t much to eat, their chil- 
dren can’t take care of them very well. The 
poor things!” 

Meanwhile the Indian, who was evidently famil- 
iar with the place, was moving among the heaps 
of white bones, picking up something here and 
there. Presently he signaled that he was ready 
to go by pointing silently down the hill. 

Old Pierre was found nodding comfortably on 
his tether. He was hitched to the buckboard and 
the return journey was begun. 

As before, they saw no person. Once or twice, 
as evening came on, there was a crashing in the 
bushes as they passed, probably caused by some 
frightened large animal. Again, they caught a 
glimpse of an unwieldy shape crossing the narrow 
road ahead. It was the merest fleeting blur, but 
Pierre stopped and snorted uneasily. “Bear,” 
said the Indian. Sure enough, when they had 
reached the spot, they found big tracks outlined 
in the^sand, strangely like the footprint of a human 
being. They had no weapons with them, so Bruin 


A Visit to Sable Knob 


129 


was permitted to go on his way unmolested. 
Doubtless he had learned of their nearness and he, 
too, thought it wise not to meddle, for there was 
neither sight nor sound of him. 

The sun had gone down and the first pale stars 
were coming shyly into the heavens when Redbird 
vaulted out of the buckboard. ‘^Go straight,’’ he 
said, pointing to the south. ‘‘Don’t turn off. 
Can’t miss um camp.” 

“Why, where are you going, Redbird I” queried 
Bunty in surprise. 

“Git um moccasins,” said the brown man and 
was gone. 

They reached home safely, to find that Mrs. 
Pugh had kept a warm supper for them. The next 
morning, when Hugo came out of the tent, he 
uttered a little cry of pleased surprise. On one 
of the stools under the fly were the “war paints,” 
a pair of beautifully beaded little moccasins, and 
a necklace of bear’s teeth. This latter ornament 
had been made during the night by Redbird from 
teeth which he had picked up at the animals’ 
burying ground. 


CHAPTER XVII 


BUNTY^S SECOND INDIAN 

Mr. Prescott had resumed the work of cutting 
and drawing timber for the addition to the cabin 
and also for the winter wood supply. Redbird had 
not reappeared since the previous night, though, 
because of the souvenirs which he had brought, 
Bunty knew that he was not far off. 

The hoy himself was curled up in his easy-chair 
in front of the tent, reading one of the books 
brought from home, when a shadow fell across 
the page. He looked up to encounter the stead- 
fast gaze of a strange Indian. 

The man was much older than Redbird, and 
had not the clear, straightforward look of the 
latter. In fact, there was something so forbidding 
about his appearance that Bunty glanced toward 
the Englishman’s in the hope that he would see 
either Mr. Pugh, his wife or Redbird. But no 
one was in sight. 

The Indian was strangely attired. He wore a 
fashionably cut shirt with a stiff bosom. It had 
once been white, but was so no longer. It was 
130 


Bunty^s Second Indian 


131 


/ 

tucked into a pair of buckskin breeches, heavily 
fringed along the outer seams. Around his waist 
was strapped a cartridge belt, over a frock coat 
which fell below his knees. He wore broken 
patent leather shoes. On his tangled black hair 
was perched a battered silk hat. In one hand he 
carried a shotgun, in the other a long wicked- 
looking knife. 

Bunty was much frightened by the man’s 
appearance and manner. But he forgot the fear 
for a moment when he noticed the ornaments 
thrust into the top of the silk hat. They were two 
long, glossy feathers, standing proudly erect. The 
feathers were brownish in tinge, except for the 
tips, which were dyed a vivid red. Eagle 
feathers,” thought the boy; ‘^wish I had them!” 

But the man stood motionless, evidently waiting 
for him to speak, and he dismissed the thought of 
the feathers. Fear of the fellow returned, and 
Bunty asked rather tremblingly: ^‘What do you 
want?” 

‘‘Money,” was the prompt reply. “I am hun- 
gry ; want something to eat. ’ ’ His tones were gut- 
tural, but he spoke English more plainly than 
Eedbird. 

“I — I haven’t any money,” returned Bunty. 

“You have a watch, ’’ retorted the Indian, point- 


132 


Bunty Prescott 


ing to the leather guard on the boy’s shirt. ‘ ‘ That 
will do. I can sell it.” 

‘^Please wait until my father comes home,” 
urged Bunty, clasping his hand tightly over the 
pocket that held the watch. Again he looked about 
eagerly for some one who would come to his 
assistance, but the clearing lay discouragingly 
empty. 

‘‘No,” said the man, gruffly. “Your father is 
too far away. I cannot wait. Don’t stir!” he 
warned, as Bunty made a motion to rise. ‘ ‘ I pay 
for your watch ; I sing to you 1 ’ ’ 

This satisfied Bunty that the man had been 
drinking, and was all the more dangerous if 
crossed. So he sank back into his chair. Still, 
though his heart beat almost suffocatingly with 
fear, he was determined not to give up his hand- 
some little watch without a struggle. His father 
or Mr. Pugh or Redbird must soon appear. If he 
kept cool, and did not attempt to give an alarm, 
the Indian might be induced to postpone the rob- 
bery until one of them came. So he said bravely, 
in a voice he tried hard to keep from breaking: 
“All right; sing to me, please.” 

The Indian nodded, grasped his shotgun near 
the middle, and raised his knife on high with the 
other hand. Then, bending his body almost 
double, he began to walk in a circle in front of 


Bunty^s Second Indian 


133 


Bunty, lifting his knees very high, like a spirited 
horse, until they almost touched his chin with each 
step. And as he went through this barbarous 
dance, he chanted in a high voice : 

‘‘Behold, I am Joe Neebish, 

Strong man of the Chippewas; 

My name is Swift Water, 

Because I am like the white rapids. 

I kill the deer on the hillsides ; 

The bear I have struck down with my knife. 
The fox is not more cunning nor tireless 
Than Joe Neebish, the Swift Water. 

‘ ‘ I am the son of a great chieftain ; 

Once my people were powerful, 

But now they are scattered. 

The frost kills the counselors: 

They die of the coughing. 

The white man steals the hunting. 

He snares the swift trout in the streams. 
Once we owned the whole northland ; 

Now he makes us his servants. 

“Joe Neebish is hungry; 

He has walked far through the heavy sands ; 

No one will give him food; 

But he cannot starve like a dog. 


134 


Bunty Prescott 


The watch of the Little White Chief 

And the guns and blankets will save Swift 
Water. 

The Big White Chief is gone, 

And so is the Englishman 

‘‘Eedbird here,” announced a calm voice, and 
the young Indian, noiseless as ever, stepped from 
behind the tent. Seeing Bunty ’s joyful start, he 
laid his hand for a moment on the boy’s shoulder. 

Neebish straightened up very suddenly at sight 
of his young tribesman. He stopped dancing, and 
a foolish look came into his face. ‘‘How, Eedbird,” 
he said hurriedly. “I sang for the Little White 
Chief; he was lonely.” 

‘ ‘ More lonely after you stole um watch, 
Neebish,” grunted Eedbird. “Firewater put you 
in stone house with bars some day.” 

“Neebish was joking,” returned the strange 
Indian, but the hangdog look on his face showed 
he did not expect them to believe his words. 

‘ ‘ S ’pose I tell sheriff you kill deer wrong moons. 
Jokel” queried Eedbird, looking at him keenly. 

Swift Water started at the words. “You won’t 
tell, Eedbird? Neebish had to live, and the 
deer ” 

‘ ‘ I tell um, you no stay away from here ! ’ ’ 

“I stay away,” urged Neebish, eagerly, glad to 


Bunty^s Second Indian 


135 


escape punishment on such terms. ‘‘I go down 
Higgins Lake; stay there with white man who 
wants guide.’’ 

Eedbird made no move to detain him, and the 
older man, shouldering his gun and returning his 
knife to its sheath, faced toward the road. 

Bunty had listened without a word to the dia- 
logue between the two red men, but now he could 
be silent no longer. ^ ‘ Oh, Eedbird, ’ ’ he cried ^ ‘ ask 
him where he got those eagle feathers in his hat ! ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Little White Chief can have them, ’ ’ said Swift 
Water, halting at once. He removed the hat, 
plucked forth the feathers, and handed them to the 
boy with a smile intended to be friendly. To 
Bunty ’s words of thanks and his promise of pay- 
ment if the Indian would await his father ’s return 
he replied only with a shake of the head. 

Hugo watched him until he had passed out of 
sight beyond the entrance of the clearing. Then 
he asked: ‘‘Was his father really a chief, 
Eedbird I” 

“Yes. His tribe roamed from Mackinaw to big 
bay south. Heap trout and deer. Plenty to eat 
in beeg snow. White man bring firewater. Injun 
drink; no good. Neebish drink; no can hunt. 
Bimeby he starve.” 

“Then,” returned Bunty thoughtfully, “some 
of what he sang was true ? ’ ’ 


136 


Bunty Prescott 


Eedbird nodded vigorously. ^‘Heap true!^^ 
Bunty caressed the glossy, red-tipped feathers 
which Neebish had given him. ‘‘Well,’^ he said, 
taking a long breath, sorry for him, even 

if he did try to steal my watch ! And I ’m glad he 
came, because we have the eagle feathers now.’’ 

Eedbird smiled. ‘‘No eagle feather,” he replied. 
“They from wild turkey. But Little White 
Chief ’s friend like um just the same. Un-nh-hh 1 ’ ’ 


CHAPTEE XVIII 


LEAKNING HOW TO SHOOT 

The box of souvenirs was packed next day and 
sent to Detroit, Eedbird taking it to the Grayling 
express office in the buckhoard. In due time let- 
ters came from Billy Anderson and several of the 
others, telling of their delight at the presents. 
Billy later admitted that he had to stay after 
school twice on account of them. Once he had fas- 
tened his wrist to the desk with a thong, using a 
slipknot, and he could not free himself in time to 
go to class. Mor^ mortifying still, it was the 
teacher who unloosed the thong, making sarcastic 
remarks as she did so. 

At recess another day early in September, he 
and Bobby Smith had streaked their faces with 
the war paint and marched boldly into the room. 
That day, after the others had gone home, they 
wrote ‘‘War paint’’ five hundred times each on 
the blackboard. 

All this happened, of course, long after Banty 
had sent them the box. To get back to our story : 
Little Wliite Chief was learning more about the 
northland, and learning to love it more every day. 

137 


138 


Bunty Prescott 


Mr. Prescott had formed the habit of working 
in the scrub half of each day, and spending the 
other half in recreation with his son. Quite often 
they went fishing, and Hugo soon became an expert 
with the rod. He learned to study the sky and the 
water and to choose his fly accordingly. In time 
he could tempt the big trout to strike when his 
father, and even Mr. Pugh, could not. 

! They bathed in the shallows of the Au Sable 
when the water was warm enough, never going 
beyond Bunty ’s depth, for he had not yet learned 
to swim. There were so many things pressing 
'that the swimming lesson was put off from day 
to day. 

i His strength came back steadily. His face 
j began to grow round and plump, and the color 
returned to his cheeks. He slept soundly beneath 
the crisp, twinkling stars, which he watched each 
night from his bunk until his eyes closed, in spite 
of all that he could do to keep them open. And 
his appetite was such that Mrs. Pugh said, smil- 
ing: ‘‘Now you are beginning to eat like a real 
boy!’’ He still coughed, but the attacks did not 
leave him worn out and breathless, as formerly. 

Mr. Prescott sent to Grayling for a light axe, 
and taught him to swing it so as to' strike a clean, 
strong blow. Thereafter Hugo did his share in 
cutting the timber. 


Learning How to Shoot 


139 


His father had become quite a skillful woods- 
man. He showed Bunty how, when a tree was 
tottering, a blow on one side or the other would 
drop it just where the chopper desired. This was 
a valuable bit of knowledge, and by it the trees 
were kept from striking into standing trees and 
lodging there. 

The moment Bunty began to feel the least bit 
tired, his father insisted that he rest. So the 
chopping always remained a pleasure instead of 
becoming a task. The daily swinging of the axe 
squared his delicate shoulders and developed the 
muscles of his slender arms. 

Mr. Prescott now began teaching Hugo the use 
of firearms. The first lesson was with a twenty- 
two caliber rifle. “Well start with this, old 
man,’’ he said; “because it is light and will not 
tire your arms to hold it. And there is no recoil 
from the discharge, and recoil is what makes one 
flinch. ’ ’ 

“What do you mean by ‘flinch,’ daddy?” asked 
the boy. 

“It’s an involuntary attempt of your body — 
that is, of some of the muscles of the body — to 
avoid punishment. You see, when one fires a gun 
that has considerable recoil or ‘kick’ to it, the body 
begins to dread the repeated blows on the shoul- 
der and the shock which affects the whole struc- 


140 


Bunty Prescott 


ture. The mind does not worry over this kick. 
The mind knows that it really hurts very little, 
if at all, so is not afraid. 

‘‘So the shooter as a whole, since he is con- 
trolled by his mind, never thinks of the kick; he is 
too busy trying to hold the gun steady and to aim 
well. But while he is striving for those things, 
the muscular system gets all tuned up, waiting to 
resist the recoil. Sometimes the strain of expect- 
ing it gets too great, and the body jerks itself 
back to ease the blow. If a person fires just at 
that instant, he will surely fail to liit what he is 
aiming at.’’ 

“But he gets over this flinching after a while, 
doesn’t he, daddy?” 

Mr. Prescott smiled. “I’m afraid he doesn’t, 
old man. I have been shooting a rifle on the 
range for some years, and I find I’m as likely to 
flinch as ever. But I have learned not to fire when 
I flinch, and so save a miss.” 

While he talked, Mr. Prescott was arranging 
for the shooting. He selected a large tree in the 
rear of the tents and pinned a target to it. 

This target was about six inches square. In 
the center of it was a round black spot about an 
inch in diameter. This was the “bullseye,” and 
to hit it counted five. There was a ring about an 
inch distant from that, and all shots which struck 


Learning How to Shoot 


141 


inside this ring, or upon it, counted four. A sec- 
ond and larger ring, enclosing the first at a dis- 
tance of an inch, was for the threes; and the 
balance of the target, outside the three ring, 
counted two. 

Bunty was placed facing the target at a dis- 
tance of fifteen paces, and the empty gun put 
into his hand. Bring the stock to your right 
shoulder,^’ directed his father, ‘‘and raise the 
right elbow as far as you can. That makes a 
good, steady support for the butt of the piece. 
Hold the rifle near the middle with the left hand. 
Now practice bringing the gun up that way, your 
right hand at the small of the stock. ’ ’ 

The boy did so until the correct handling of the 
rifle became easy to him. Then they rested for 
a time. Eedbird strolled up and joined them. 
“Little White Chief shoot he asked. “Shoot 
um Joe Neebish feet; make um dance if he come 
back. ^ ’ 

“I have never thanked you enough for saving 
Hugo from that man, Redbird,’’ said Mr. Prescott. 
“The fellow meant mischief. He would hvuve 
stolen all he could carry.’’ 

Eedbird shrugged his shoulders. “No talk 
thanks,” he replied. You my friend; Little 
White Chief my friend. Enough ; Un-nh-hh ! ’ ’ 

The shooting lesson was resumed. “Next we’ll 


142 


Bunty Prescott 


try sighting, old man,’’ announced Mr. Prescott. 
‘ ‘ In target shooting it is very important that one 
gets the same sight each time. Now look through 
that peep sight on the stock and get the front 
sight to stand up straight in it.” 

‘‘I close my left eye, don’t I, daddy?” asked 
the boy. 

‘‘You do not,” replied his father. “Shooters 
nearly all do so, because it’s a tradition that has 
come down from early days. But a person really 
can see better, while shooting, with both eyes 
open. And shutting one eye really imposes too 
much strain on the other. So the habit may be 
harmful as well as useless. You’re going to start 
right by shooting with both eyes open. ’ ’ 

In the next few minutes Bunty learned to see 
the target and the front sight quite clearly while 
using both eyes. “Now have just half your front 
sight appear in the peep ; aim so the bullseye sits 
squarely on top of the sight, with a line of white 
showing between them,” directed his father. 
Bunty was able to do this after several trials. 

Mr. Prescott explained, while they rested again, 
that the sight must he kept standing erect, as to 
cant the piece to the right or left meant that the 
bullet would follow the cant, and strike to the 
right or left of the bullseye. The line of white 
between the “bull” and the sight was necessary 


Learning How to Shoot 


143 


because one could not aim directly at the black 
spot with good results. If he did so, there was 
danger of raising the sight too high. This would 
cause the bullets to strike above the mark. 

‘‘Next comes the trigger-pull,’^ said Mr. Pres- 
cott, when Bunty asked that the lesson be resumed. 
“That’s pretty important, too.” He cocked the 
weapon. “Slip your right forefinger into the 
trigger guard as far as you can, until the second 
joint is on the trigger. Then strive to release the 
catch by squeezing the whole hand, and not mov- 
ing the fore finger any more than the other fingers. 

“No good shot ‘pulls’ the trigger. Pulling it 
jerks the muzzle of the rifle to one side, and the 
bullet may miss the target.” 

Bunty snapped the empty piece several times 
by squeezing the trigger, observing all the rules 
which his father had taught him. At last he was 
pronounced ready to commence firing, and the 
rifle, a repeater, was loaded. “Keep cool, old 
man,” remarked his father; “and when you are 
ready to fire, hold your breath for an instant. 
Otherwise your breathing would make the gun 
wabble. ’ ’ 

So he planted himself firmly, and while his 
father and Kedbird watched the target with keen 
interest, he took careful aim and fired. 


144 


Bunty Prescott 


“Where was the sight when you fired T’ asked 
Mr. Prescott at once. 

“A little low and a little to the right, returned 
Bunty promptly. “I tried to hold it right under 
and squeeze, but it waved over that way on me.’’ 

“Was the shot close enough to be a four, do you 
think?” 

“I think so, daddy.” 

They advanced to the target and found the tiny 
bullet hole, low and to the right, as Bunty had 
called it. But it was outside the four ring. The 
“wave” had been greater than he thought. 

‘ ‘ Good work, old man, ’ ’ said his father, clapping 
him on the shoulder. “You were able to call your 
first shot, and that’s better than if you got a ‘bull’ 
and didn’t know how you made it. The shot’s a 
five o’clock three.” 

“What do you mean by ‘five o’clock,’ daddy?” 

“Well, you see, to a shooter the target is like 
the face of a clock. The bullseye is the center 
of the dial. If he gets a shot exactly above it, that 
shot is at “twelve o’clock,” corresponding to the 
twelve on the dial. One directly below the bull is 
at six ; a shot to the right, midway between the top 
and the bottom, is at three. The corresponding 
shot, straight across the bullseye, would be, of 
course, at nine; and so on. Expert shots desig- 
nate shots in the different parts of the bullseye 


Learning How to Shoot 


145 


itself in tlie same way — a two o’clock bull, or an 
eleven o’clock bull, or whatever it may be.” 

‘‘What’s one right in the center, daddy?” 

“That’s called a ‘pinwheel,’ son.” 

Bunty fired a dozen more shots, calling each 
one correctly until he came to the sixth. When 
the rifle cracked spitefully on that cartridge, he 
cried; “Oh, daddy, I flinched! But I couldn’t 
help it, really I couldn’t! All of me backed up 
just as I shot.” 

“Shut both eyes, too,” chuckled Kedbird. 

But the flinch seemed to have done some good, 
even though it did cost a miss, for Bunty tried 
harder, and his last two shots were pretty bulls- 
eyes. It was a proud boy who took down the tar- 
get, folded it carefully, and tucked it away in the 
pocket of his shirt. ‘ ‘ Mr. and Mrs. Pugh will be 
glad to see this at suppertime,” he explained, as 
indeed they were. 

“Try a string, Eedbird,” invited Mr. Prescott, 
reloading the gun and putting up a fresh target. 

Nothing loath, the Indian rose to his feet and 
sighted over the weapon. Then he fired five shots 
so rapidly that the reports seemed scarcely a sec- 
ond apart; yet, when they reached the target, it 
was to find every one was a bullseye. 

“Good shooting, Eedbird!” said Mr. Prescott, 


146 Bunty Prescott 

heartily, while Bunty looked at the Indian in open- 
eyed admiration. 

‘‘Fair,’’ admitted the Indian. “Shoot every 
day. Little White Chief, and you will shoot same. ’ ’ 

Bunty promised himself that he would shoot 
every day, not because he was envious of Eed- 
bird’s good shooting, but because he had a feeling 
that some day his ability might prove of value to 
him. He wanted to know all he could possibly 
learn, that belonged in any way to the woods. 


CHAPTER XIX 


WHAT A GOOD SPOETSMAN DOES 

Bunty’s shooting lessons were continued each 
day, and he became very proficient. When it was 
an easy matter for him to hit the bullseye four 
times out of five at fifteen yards he was moved 
back to twenty-five yards by his father. There, 
also, he soon showed skill. A bigger target was 
put up, and the firing point was, by degrees, set 
still further back. Presently it was more than one 
hundred yards away. 

Then it became necessary to take the wind into 
consideration in order to stay on the target. A 
breeze across the range was quite likely to turn 
the light bullet out of its course. But in time the 
boy managed to make correct allowance for the 
speed of the wind, and to group his shots in or 
near the bullseye. 

‘‘WeVe about done with target shooting now,” 
announced Mr. Prescott one morning after Bunty 
had shot very cleverly ; ‘ ‘ except, of course, to keep 
from getting rusty. Hitting the bullseye teaches 
the groundwork. But the things wedl have to 
147 


148 


Bunty Prescott 


hit in the woods are running and jumping. We 
see them at unexpected times and places. 

Birds and animals don^t wait until we are 
ready for them; they go when they are ready. 
So now you will have to learn to shoot quickly 
as well as accurately. Some ‘wild west’ practice 
should teach that.” 

He gathered a basket of empty tin cans. Stand- 
ing behind Bunty, so as to avoid danger, he tossed 
them into the air one at a time for the young 
marksman to shoot at. Most of the cans came 
down untouched. Hugo shot too hurriedly, or 
waited too long in trying to get a “bead” on the 
whirling object. While so large a mark looked 
easy to hit, exactly the contrary was the case. The 
boy had almost emptied his gun before “winging” 
one of the flying targets. 

His average for the first day was one hit out of 
ten tries; but in three days he was hitting half 
the cans. Then the average gradually crept up 
until nine out of ten came down with bullet holes 
through them. 

This kind of shooting was very fascinating and 
soon Mr. Prescott and Eedbird were taking a 
hand in it. The result was that a lively game 
grew out of it as they all became more expert. 

First, a number of cans, pieces of wood, and 
stones, none smaller than the palm of a man’s 


What a Good Sportsman Does 149 

hand, was collected. Then one of the three would 
take a position behind and to the right of the 
other two, who stood with loaded guns, ready to 
fire. 

When the word was given, he would toss one of 
the targets across in front of the waiting marks- 
men. The cans were bounded along the ground; 
but the smaller objects were required to be kept 
in the air. The marksmen would fire in turn, each 
choosing every other target. The missing of five 
sent the marksman back to do the tossing, while 
the one relieved took his place on the firing line. 

They played this game by the hour, applauding 
each other ^s good shots, and shouting with laugh- 
ter when an easy target — usually one of the 
bounding cans — was missed. Naturally, Mr. 
Pugh heard of the sport and was soon persuaded 
to join the firing line. When the popping began 
over near the tents he usually strolled out to take 
a hand, carrying his twenty-two, and with a hun- 
dred cartridges in his pocket. It was a form of 
amusement that never became stale, but was a 
favorite as long as Mr. Prescott and Bunty 
remained at Englishman’s Camp. 

The boy was taught revolver and shotgun shoot- 
ing as well as expertness with the rifle. Training 
with the latter weapon made the new accomplish- 
ments quite easy. Mr. Prescott showed him how 


150 


Bunty Prescott 


to clean firearms and oil them so that rust would 
not injure them, and Bunty was held responsible 
for the condition of his own. Besides the target 
rifle, a revolver and a light shotgun, Mr. Prescott 
had given him a hunting rifle big enough to kill 
bear and deer. Though not firing this so fre- 
quently as the other guns, he used it enough to 
become perfectly familiar with it. 

‘‘Old man,’’ said Mr. Prescott one evening, as 
they sat in front of the fly, while Eedbird tended 
the glowing camp fire, “you’re a pretty good tar- 
get shot now. Very few around here are any 
better. We don’t know what you’ll do as a game 
shot until you ’ve been tested out. But before you 
go into the woods, you should know the etiquette 
of the gun. 

“Never point a weapon, loaded or unloaded, at 
any person; and don’t permit anyone to point a 
weapon at you. Never snap the trigger of a 
strange gun. It’s the ‘didn’t-know-it-was-loaded’ 
gun that’s responsible for all the accidents. Don’t 
walk through the woods with your gun cocked, 
and don’t bring it toward you by the muzzle. 
Unload your gun the minute you’re through hunt- 
ing. A loaded gun has no place in the house. 

‘ ‘ Be afraid of a gun. The man who fears a gun 
never gets careless with it. Don’t go out with a 
careless hunter. Never fire until you know posi- 


What a Good Sportsman Does 151 

lively what you are firing at. This fall, after 
the season opens, you ^11 see a good many things 
that look like deer; and youdl hear noises in the 
bushes that will sound like deer. But know it’s a 
deer before you fire. Many a man is carrying 
a lifelong regret because he didn’t know when 
he blazed away ; he just supposed. 

<< There; I’ve given you quite a lecture. Do 
you think you can remember all of it?” 

‘‘I’ll try, daddy,” replied Bunty, seriously, “for 
I want to become a good sportsman. ’ ’ 

“Un-nh-hh! Good sportsman now!” said Eed- 
bird, tossing another stick onto the fire. 


CHAPTER XX 


THli FOUETH OF JULY CELEBEATION 

I have forgotten to mention Bunty^s Fourth 
of July, which occurred some weeks before the 
events narrated in the last chapter, and after they 
had been in the northland about a fortnight. So 
we will go back to the holiday. 

^‘Bunty, what day is thisT’ inquired Mr. 
Prescott when they arose one bright, sunshiny 
morning. 

The boy pondered a moment. am not sure 
whether it is Friday or Saturday, daddy,’’ he 
said. 

‘‘What day of the month is itT’ 

“Well, this is July, and I know it’s after the 
first — Why, daddy, it’s the Fourth!” and he 
clapped his hands delightedly. 

His father smiled. “Yes, son, it’s Independence 
Day.” 

Bunty’s face became overcast with gloom. “And 
we’re twelve miles from a firecracker, aren’t we, 
daddy? And no baseball game, either! It’ll 
hardly seem like the Fourth, will it?” 

152 


The Fourth of July Celebration 153 

Mr. Prescott winked mysteriously. ‘‘Well, 
now, we don’t know. Let’s wait and see wkat 
the day will bring forth.” 

Bunty clapped his hands again. He knew that 
a treat of some description was in store for him. 

They spent the morning in a ramble along the 
river, returning with good appetites to the special 
dinner which Mrs. Pugh had prepared in honor of 
the day. Bunty was wondering, afterwards, what 
form the celebration would take, when the Fox 
family, in single file as on the occasion of their 
first visit, came marching into the clearing. 

Greetings were exchanged, and the visitors took 
seats on the grass or on stools in the shade of the 
fly. They talked of various things: The new 
barn; some down-river campers; the bear who 
had surprised “Bed” Fox without a gun on the 
way home from the huckleberry patch. But dur- 
ing all the talk Bunty kept his eyes fixed on a 
stout, thick, hickory stick which “Silver” Fox 
carried. 

At last he could restrain himself no longer. 
“ ’Sense me. Silver,” he said politely, “but what 
is that stick you are carrying?” 

“That’s a baseball bat,” returned “Silver,” 
shyly. ‘ ‘ Show him the ball, Roundy. ’ ’ 

“Little Round” Fox promptly produced the 


154 


Bunty Prescott 


ball from his pocket and tossed it to Bunty. It 
was the homemade yarn ball with which the boys 
played at home, but it had been covered with some 
sort of hide for this occasion. The cover was fas- 
tened with large, irregular stitches. Hugo bounced 
the rather irregular sphere on the ground, and it 
responded well, for it had a core of rubber. 

‘‘Let’s play!” he cried, and the others, espe- 
cially the Foxes, arose so quickly that it seemed 
such a proposition was all they were waiting for. 

There were not enough to “choose up” into 
two teams, so they played two-old-cat. Every boy 
knows what that is : Two batters alternate 
between home and first base. When one is retired 
he takes the last place in the field, and the others 
move up one position to fill the vacancy. 

Everybody played. Mr. Prescott soon found 
that he had not lost his old skill in the field or at 
the bat. Eedbird did not bat very strongly, but 
his fleetness of foot generally permitted him to 
reach first ahead of the ball. Mr. Fox proved to 
be a hard hitter and his long drives brought much 
applause from the other players. The young 
Foxes played a fair game, as did Bunty. 

Mr. Pugh sauntered over presently, hands in 
pockets, and joined the fun. He had been a famous 
cricketer in England during his younger days, 


The Fourth of July Celebration 155 

and now Ms cleverness in bowling’’ stood Mm 
in good stead. The bowler is the cricket pitcher, 
and Pugh, pitching underhanded as the bowler is 
required to do, threw the ball in wide, sweeping 
curves, which were very hard to hit. 

By common consent, after he had batted a few 
times, he was left in the box to do the pitching. 
Bunty tired a little after the hard work of run- 
ning back and forth, so he played first base most 
of the afternoon and made some fine catches. 
Everyone was surprised when the sun dropped to 
the tops of the tall trees on the west of the clear- 
ing. The afternoon had sped swiftly and pleas- 
antly. The Fox family departed for home, but 
promised to return, on Mr. Prescott’s invitation, 
after supper. 

The stars were coming out when they filed into 
the clearing again. Eedbird had a famous fire 
going, and logs were ranged about it for seats. 
Some other preparations had been made by his 
smiling father, which had filled Bunty with 
anticipation. 

When the Foxes were all seated — the boys with 
some sly jostling and crowding — Mr. Prescott 
brought out a big, brown-paper parcel. On being 
opened to a chorus of delighted cries, it was found 
to contain fireworks of every description; Sky- 


156 


Bunty Prescott 


rockets, pinwheels, fire crackers, Eoman candles — 
in fact, all the inventions intended to produce the 
most glare and noise for the money invested. 

Mr. and Mrs. Pugh joined the happy circle and 
assisted loyally in the celebration. It was to 
Pugh that Mr. Prescott appealed when everything 
had exploded or fizzed or glared, and asked 
whether it was safe to send up a balloon. 

The balloon was of tissue paper, a gorgeous 
affair of red and white, and it stood fully six feet 
in height. Everyone hung breathlessly on the 
Englishman’s decision, and there was rejoicing 
when he said: ^‘The rain of the past few days 
has soaked the swamps, so there’s no danger. Yes, 
send it up ! ” 

A sturdy cheer burst forth when the balloon, 
filled almost to bursting with the hot air from an 
oily rag, rose straight above the clearing. Up 
and up it went, until a gentle current of air from 
the west caught it. Then it sailed gracefully 
across the river, far into the barrens. They 
watched the twinkling light until it was no larger 
than a star . . . until it had winked out in the 
distance. Then everybody rose with a sigh. The 
Fourth of July celebration was over. 

The ‘‘An Sable Baseball Team” really dated 
from that day. Mr. Prescott sent to Detroit for 


The Fourth of July Celebration 157 

several league balls, a catcher’s chest protector, 
mask and mitt, a first baseman’s mitt, gloves for 
the infielders — the outfielders made their own — 
and for several wagon-tongue bats. When the 
Fox family came over a week later, the outfit had 
arrived and the nine was organized. 

‘‘Eed” Fox was a natural catcher, and went 
behind the bat. The Englishman was unanimously 
chosen pitcher. Bunty, despite his small stature, 
was placed on first, and did wonders with the big 
glove. Fox senior covered second, for he could 
catch a thrown ball or a fly with the best of them, 
and Mr. Prescott, who played shortstop, promised 
to assist on the grounders. Eedbird was stationed 
on third. Young Black Fox” — ‘‘Blackie,” his 
brothers called him — went to left field, Silver” 
to center and ‘^Eoundy” to right. 

Twice a week after that, during the summer, 
the ‘‘Au Sables” met at the clearing for prac- 
tice. A diamond was laid out in the upper end, 
with home plate near the fringe of trees on the 
west. The rough spots were smoothed over or 
worn down. In a few weeks the strangely as- 
sorted team was as good as most amateur nines. 

Mr. Prescott had feared, before leaving home, 
that the pine barrens would prove so lonesome 
that Bunty would long for his playmates in De- 


158 


Bunty Prescott 


troit. After the organization of the team, how- 
ever, if not before it, he knew this fear was vain. 
Between baseball, fishing, shooting, and timber- 
cutting the days were actually too short for the 
healthful, pleasurable activities crowded into 
them. Bunty often spoke of Detroit and the girls 
and boys there; but he did not dream of being 
homesick. There was no time for that. 


CHAPTER XXI 


IN THE HUCKLEBEKEY SWAMP 

Several days after the Fourth of July celebra- 
tion the Englishman invited them to go huckle- 
berrying. The swamp, he said, was but a short 
distance away, and they could get many quarts 
in a day. Eager for the experience, they accepted. 

At six o’clock the next morning they started. 
The Englishman had hitched his two horses to a 
light wagon and into this the four of them — Pugh, 
Redbird, Mr. Prescott and Bunty — clambered. 
There was little space left, for the wagon also con- 
tained a big basket of lunch and various tin pails, 
pans and other receptacles for the berries. 

The Indian had a stout stick, five feet in length 
and forked at one end, tied diagonally across his 
back. Mr. Pugh, before starting, had buckled on 
a heavy revolver. When Hugo asked what the 
stick was for, the Indian smiled and said, ‘‘You 
see, mebbe.” 

They drove west out of the clearing in the di- 
rection of Grayling, and after crossing the creek 
where the wagon had become mired the first day, 
159 


160 


Bunty Prescott 


turned to the south. A two-mile drive along a 
sandy trail brought them to the marsh. 

Despite the early hour, there were a dozen or 
more horses and rigs tied in a grove of hardwood 
trees on the edge of the huckleberry lands. The 
marsh contained but a few dead stubs and no 
jack pines, so it was possible to see some dis- 
tance across it. Everywhere one could make out 
the straw hats of the men and the sunbonnets of 
the women and girl pickers as they sat by the low 
bushes and plucked the dusky, blue berries with 
swift fingers. 

Most of the pickers seemed to be acquainted 
and called one to another, or paused to chat as 
they went back and forth emptying their pails. 
Pugh and Eedbird answered many greetings. 
Presently Bunty heard some one call ‘‘Hello, Lit- 
tle White Chief!’’ and looked up to see the Fox 
boys, some distance away, wave friendly hands. 

The forenoon slipped by quickly. Bunty soon 
found that the berries were biggest and thickest 
where the vines were nourished by rotting logs 
and stumps. So he went from one little mound, 
caused by decaying wood, to another. The mucky 
ground was swampy, and sprung beneath his feet. 
Eedbird kept close by him. 

They stopped frequently to chat — that is, Bunty 
did, while the Indian answered without pausing 


In the Huckleberry Swamp 161 

— and so the boy’s forenoon contribution to the 
common hoard was but six quarts. Redbird and 
Mr. Pugh and Mr. Prescott, who worked together, 
had done much better, and several of the vessels 
in the wagon were full. 

There was an hour’s rest for dinner, during 
which father and son were introduced to the 
pickers who had assembled in the grove to eat and 
rest. Most of them had come from Grayling, 
though there were settlers who had driven from 
their lonely cabins fifteen or twenty miles away. 
They had risen with the first streak of dawn, 
snatched hasty breakfasts, and had been in the 
berry patch since seven o’clock. 

There was much good-natured banter among 
the thirty or more pickers, and this finally re- 
sulted in wrestling bouts among the younger men. 
‘‘Red” Fox proved to be the champion. Cheered 
by the excited yelling of the men and the hand- 
clappings of the women, he threw two Grayling 
youths in succession. A young settler from down 
the Au Sable proved a harder nut to crack, but 
“Red,” after a lively struggle, managed to put 
his shoulders to the “mat,” also. 

“Roundy” wanted to wrestle Bunty but before 
his invitation could he accepted, “Silver” had 
seized his pudgy brother, and they were at it, 
hammer and tongs. There were shouts of en- 


162 


Bunty Prescott 


couraging laughter when the plump boy’s weight 
nearly upset ‘‘Silver;” but the latter wriggled 
cleverly out of the dangerous hold. They tugged 
and swayed for some minutes without much ad- 
vantage on either side. Then ‘ ‘ Silver, ’ ’ dropping 
quickly, pulled the puffing “Roundy” down by the 
knees, rolled him onto his back, and sat upon him 
in triumph. 

The youngster took his defeat sweet-temper- 
edly. “Anyway,” he panted, as he scrambled up 
again, “I picked — puff — twelve quarts — puff — 
puff — this morning and you — puff — only got 
eight!” This brought him a round of applause 
at which “Silver,” called “Quicksilver” by some 
because he worked so slowly, had the grace to 
blush. 

Redbird still wore the forked stick when they 
went out to the patch again. Bunty noted that 
some of the other men also carried stout clubs. 
He was soon to learn why. 

They had been hard at the picking for an hour, 
and Bunty was moving toward a patch of thick, 
heavily-laden bushes when he heard a curious 
sound. It was a hum and a whir in one, accom- 
panied by a low, rapid clicking. The whole some- 
how suggested great danger, and though he did 
not know what it meant, he stopped in fright. The 
noise, apparently, was quite close ; yet, aside from 


In the Huchleherry Swamp 163 

the fact that it came from the ground, he could 
not he sure of the direction otherwise. 

With the very first note, Eedbird advanced 
swiftly ahead of Bunty, at the same time slipping 
the forked stick off his hack. ‘‘Stand still, he 
commanded, in a low, fierce tone. It was so dif- 
ferent from his usual pleasant way of speaking, 
that surprise if nothing else would have kept the 
hoy rooted in his tracks. 

Standing motionless, stick poised with the fork 
downward, in his right hand, the Indian stooped 
forward. His intent gaze covered every inch of 
the ground before them. Presently he grunted 
softly, as if with satisfaction. His voice caused 
the sound to increase in intensity, and Bunty felt 
himself grow weak with fear. 

He saw what the Indian had discovered, a flat, 
spear-shaped head, moving gently back and forth, 
while unwinking, wicked eyes watched them; a 
thin mouth, from which the sharp tongue darted ; 
a thick, scaly body, folded in narrowing curves, 
one on the other, and a tail, ending in a series of 
light brown knobs, which vibrated rapidly. Bunty 
felt rather than knew that he was facing a rat- 
tlesnake. 

What followed was done so rapidly that the boy 
could scarcely comprehend it. Eedbird held the 
stick in front of the snake which struck like a 


164 


Bimty Prescott 


flash of lightning. Before the reptile could set- 
tle back into its coils again, from which, only, it 
can strike, the Indian had pinned the triangular 
head down with the forked stick. The prongs 
stuck into the ground and prevented the snake 
from escaping by moving either forward or back- 
ward. 

The rattler straightened out and struggled 
frantically to get free, but the merciless stick held 
it safely. Eedbird’s brown hand seized the 
thrashing tail. Then he pulled out the stick, and 
lifting the snake by the tail, began swinging it 
at arm’s length about his head. 

Next he reversed the motion suddenly, using 
the strong, quick jerk one employs to crack a 
whip. The strain was too much for the whirl- 
ing rattler. The head snapped otf as cleanly as 
though cut with a knife and flew some distance 
away. Out came Eedbird’s heavy hunting 
weapon, and a single stroke severed the twelve 
rattles. These he extended to the trembling boy, 
after he had sent the writhing body after the 
head. 

There was little more berry picking for Bunty 
that afternoon. His father, hurrying up, saw 
how pale the boy was, and insisted that he stay 
in the shade of the grove. Again he tried to 
thank Eedbird for his defense of his son, and 


In the Huckleherry Swamp 1()5 

again the Indian shrugged his shoulders and said 
gruffly that he wanted no thanks for serving his 
friends. 

Nevertheless, the other pickers made quite a 
hero of him, and he was showered with praise for 
his quick, cool work. Bunty made him come to 
the grove also, and the picking for their party 
was done thereafter by Mr. Prescott and the Eng- 
lishman. But at sundown, nevertheless, all the 
vessels they had brought were filled. 

The danger of being bitten, Kedbird told 
Bunty, was slight unless a person actually stepped 
on a snake. Then escape was difficult, and death 
almost sure. When women or girls heard the 
warning rattle, they retreated, screaming. This 
brought the men on the run, because they hoped 
to catch the snake still coiled. A coiled snake 
was easy to find and to dispose of with a shot or 
a blow from one of the clubs. But an uncoiled 
rattler usually glided away and was lost in the 
long grass, to menace the pickers again later. 

Eedbird stated proudly that his method of kill- 
ing rattlers — snapping their heads off — was his 
own, and not practiced by anyone else. 


CHAPTEE XXII 


DOWN THE AU SABLE 

‘‘Bnnty,’’ said Mr. Prescott that evening, 
it wasn’t for one thing, we’d take a trip down the 
An Sable. As it is, though, I ’m afraid we ’ll have 
to wait until it’s cooler.” 

^‘What’s that one thing, daddy?” 

“Too many mosquitoes; they’d fairly eat us up 
along the river.” 

“Skeeto no bite,” put in Eedbird; “I fix um.” 

“How?” 

‘ ‘ Make um medicine. You try um. ’ ’ 

“If you have anything that will really keep them 
off, Eedbird, we’ll start this week. It’s a two 
weeks’ trip, clear to the mouth, and it is to take 
the place of a National Guard camp for me this 
year. Make your medicine to-morrow and we’ll 
see how it works.” 

Eedbird was otf into the woods next day at 
sunrise. He came back with a big bundle of 
plants, which he crushed and compounded in vari- 
ous cups. The result was a greenish fluid with a 
strong though not unpleasant smell. 

166 


Down the Au Sable 


167 


Mr. Prescott smeared it onto his face and hands, 
and headed for the damp, shady places along the 
water. The mosquitoes, which within a few days 
had become very thick, advanced in a humming 
cloud to meet him. But at the odor of Eedbird^s 
mixture they retreated hastily, after circling 
around for a few moments. It was plain that they 
did not like it. One or two blundered against his 
face, but made no attempt to alight. To give the 
mixture a fair test, he strolled along the river for 
half an hour. There were thousands of the little 
pests all about, but not a one molested him. Eed- 
bird’s ‘‘medicine’^ was a success. 

Preparations were at once begun for the down- 
river trip, which had long been a project in Mr. 
Prescott ^s mind. First, there was the question 
of a boat. Mr. Pugh had one built especially for 
such a journey, and which had been twice to the 
mouth of the Au Sable. Mr. Prescott was easily 
persuaded to employ it. 

Pugh called it, English fashion, a ‘‘punt.’’ It 
was about sixteen feet long, shallow, and some 
thirty-eight inches wide. It was pointed at both 
ends, and the ends “flared” somewhat. That is, 
they did not lie flat on the surface of the water, but 
rose from it a little. Such a craft did not “stick 
its nose in,” and so floated more rapidly than a 
flat-bottomed boat would have. 


168 


Bunty Prescott 

Each end was decked over to make a seat, and 
there was a third seat in the middle. Beneath the 
middle seat was the ‘ ‘ well. ’ ^ Two water-tight par- 
titions the full width of the boat and eighteen 
inches apart, formed the sides of the well, and 
the seat, which could be removed, was the cover. 
In the bottom of the boat, inside the well, several 
holes had been bored with a large auger. These 
holes were screened over, but they, of course, per- 
mitted the water to rise as high in the well as the 
boat was low in the stream. 

I The well was intended to keep alive fish that 
had been caught, and served its purpose per- 
fectly. A fish dropped into it was confined in 
cold, running water from the stream. The ends 
of the boat furnished good storage places for other 
food. They were water-tight and would remain 
dry, because of the flare, even if a little water 
came into the craft. 

‘^The current is plenty swift — a good six miles 
an hour — so you won't need to row," said the 
Englishman. ‘‘All you need is a pole to steer 
with." Mr. Prescott knew that the river, on 
downstream trips, was navigated by the pole, but 
to be on the safe side he took a paddle as well. 

What to take in the way of food was the next 
problem. After much thought and discussion, 
they decided on bread and hard-tack, canned to- 


Down the Au Sable 


169 


matoes, potted chicken and tongue, canned pork 
and beans, and a few cans of peaches, dried beef 
and a strip of bacon, eggs, butter, condensed milk 
and cream, salt and pepper, and coffee and pota- 
toes. Their fishing rods would furnish them daily 
with the principal part of their meals. 

Toilet articles and changes of clothing were 
packed in a valise by Mr. Prescott for himself 
and Bunty. A few cooking utensils were put in, 
as well as a rifle and shotgun, with ammunition 
for each. The two blanket rolls, each made up of a 
whole shelter tent with pins and poles, a rubber 
blanket, their oilskin suits, and two woolen 
blankets, were added. Each of the voyagers filled 
his match safe, and saw that his oilcloth packet 
of these useful articles was in his pocket. 

It was not necessary to ask Eedbird if he were 
going; everybody took it for granted, including 
Eedbird himself, that he was. His preparations 
were quite simple. He rolled two blankets in a 
large piece of canvas, and was ready. ‘^No rain, 
no tent,’’ he explained. ‘‘Eain, cut um sticks, put 
up tent. ’ ’ 

Everything was carried down to the boat, and 
the work of loading the craft was begun. It looked 
dubious at first; there was such a big heap of 
‘^dunnage,” as Pugh called it, and so little space. 
But Eedbird proved a skillful packer, and in time 


170 


Bunty Prescott 


everything was aboard. Perishable provisions 
were stored under the rear seat ; other things were 
tucked away so as to use every bit of room and 
still leave places for the voyagers to stand and sit. 

The boat did not sit level in the stream; the 
stern was lower than the bow. This was as they 
had planned. It made the craft ride the water 
much better. 

It was a beautiful, sunshiny morning. Kedbird, 
pole in hand, took his place in the bow ; Bunty sat 
down amidship; and Mr. Prescott, taking up the 
paddle, located himself in the stern. 

Mr. and Mrs. Pugh came out to see them off, the 
latter running to the house at the last moment 
to return with a huckleberry pie for their dinner. 
Good-byes were said; and a shove from pole and 
paddle launched them fairly into the swift current. 

The men had to keep close watch to avoid acci- 
dent. The stream was filled with rocks, jagged 
fellows standing several feet out of water, and 
others, much more dangerous, concealed just be- 
neath the surface; and with sunken logs; and 
with overturned trees. It was necessary to dodge 
back and forth almost constantly in order to find 
a clear pathway. 

They passed, one by one, the fishing camps — 
solid log cabins overhanging the water. Several 
were occupied, and the fishermen wished them 


Down the Au Sable 


171 


good luck and a pleasant voyage. Below tlie last 
cabin a chorus of shrill cheers came from the 
bank. The Fox family had come down from their 
home, a few rods to the west, to speed them on 
their way. ‘^Eed’’ Fox emptied his rifle in the 
air; ^‘Blackey’^ let both barrels of his shotgun 
go with a thunderous roar. ‘‘Silver’s^’ dog, a 
hound with flapping ears, raised his nose and 
howled vigorously. 

The voyagers waved their hats in response. 
Then the river swept them around a wide bend 
to the east, and the last outpost of civilization 
was lost to view. Ahead loomed the grim wilder- 
ness, and they greeted it with light hearts. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


GLIDING ACROSS A STATE 

The journey on which they had embarked was 
no mean one. Their destination was the mouth 
of the Au Sable where, flanked on either side by 
the twin cities of Oscoda and Au Sable, the river 
empties into Lake Huron. The distance, accord- 
ing to Pugh and Fox, was three hundred miles. 
It was much less as the crow flies ; but the river 
was very crooked. 

It twists and turns upon itself, swinging far to 
the north as well ; and though the current is very 
speedy, three hundred miles is a long way. Float- 
ing steadily during the daylight hours would allow 
the completion of the trip in a week; but it was 
not Mr. Prescott’s idea so to travel. There was 
no need for haste and they would not hurry. 

With the Foxes left behind, Redbird pulled off 
his slouch hat and threw it into the bottom of the 
boat. It was his way of saying that civilization 
was no longer there to bother. Thereafter, all 
during the voyage, his inky black hair hung un- 
fettered about his face. 


172 


Gliding Across a State 


173 


The management of the boat, as they became 
accustomed to it, was less of a problem. There 
were as many logs and stones in the way as ever ; 
but one sure thrust of paddle or pole now served 
where four or five such efforts had seemed neces- 
sary to turn the boat before. Occasionally, where 
a tree had fallen from the bank, they passed be- 
neath it, and everybody crouched low to avoid 
being swept overboard by the trunk. 

The quick turns of the stream often plunged 
them into eddies — little whirlpools lying in wait 
behind projecting banks. Sometimes they could be 
avoided; but again, the boat would cut into the 
heart of the circling waters, and be turned end 
for end. The first such experience was startling, 
and the boat tipped dangerously as they tried to 
keep her bow downstream. Afterwards they al- 
lowed the whirlpool to have its way, sitting per- 
fectly still meanwhile. Then, when the grasp of 
the eddy weakened, they poled leisurely out again. 

The country was wildly picturesque. Occasion- 
ally the banks of the stream rose straight up to a 
height of two hundred feet or more. Bunty 
noticed that down the face of some of these banks 
was a scar of white sand with no vegetation upon 
it. He asked Eedbird the meaning. 

‘^Roll um logs down there,” exclaimed the 
Indian, ‘^so river carry um to big saw.” 


174 


Bunty Prescott 


Little streams joined the Au Sable frequently. 
They welled from springs in which the water was 
clear and sparkling and ice cold. It seemed 
impossible to feel thirsty and not find a spring 
within five minutes in which that thirst could be 
quenched. 

Between eleven and twelve o’clock they began 
looking for a suitable place to land for dinner. 
Within half an hour it was located — a bit of 
smooth turf beneath a big tree, the usual spring 
bubbling up a few feet away. 

A little fire of dry sticks was built, and on it 
the bacon was fried and the coffee boiled. It was 
decided that the eggs, as long as they lasted, 
should be kept for breakfast. The huckleberry 
pie was served for dessert and was very good — so 
good that Bunty said as his father helped him to 
a second piece: ‘‘Daddy, I don’t mind the fright 
that rattlesnake gave me, now!” 

They rested for an hour, during which time 
Bunty, after arranging himself a bed with the 
skill of a true woodsman, slept soundly. Mr. Pres- 
cott took a nap, too, but Redbird wandered silently 
through the woods. 

They embarked again, the boat speeding buoy- 
antly down the brown water. In midafternoon 
there was another halt, and the party climbed a 
hill by the water’s edge. This hill reared itself to 


Gliding Across a State 


175 


a height of three hundred feet. Mr. Prescott took 
his camera, and from the summit got some striking 
pictures: the winding river far below, and the 
lonesome blue hills all about. 

From this place on, the river ran between high 
banks, shutting off the sunlight quite early. With 
the coming of this semi-twilight, the ‘^drag” was 
thrown overboard, slackening the speed of the boat 
so that trout fishing was possible. The drag con- 
sisted of a heavy stone, enmeshed in stout wires 
which, twisted closely together into a single cable, 
had been made fast to the stern of the boat. The 
cable was about fourteen feet long. 

Grubs and worms collected from under rotten 
logs were used as bait, which the trout took more 
eagerly than files. Soon they had a fine mess of 
trout for supper, besides a dozen big fellows in the 
well of the boat for next day. 

A bright lookout was now kept for a camp 
ground. One was soon selected — a tongue of 
smooth, firm sand, not far from the water. The 
boat was beached and securely anchored. Tents 
were pitched, beds made, and dry wood secured 
for a fire. Never did a meal smell or taste better 
than the one which they jointly prepared. 

After it had been eaten and the dishes washed 
in the creek, they lounged about the camp fire and 
talked for an hour. But the journey had been 


176 


Bunty Prescott 


tiring, despite its pleasures, and the beds of fir 
branches proved tempting. By nine o’clock they 
were rolled in their blankets. 

The humming of the mosquitoes made Bunty 
nervous, and it was some time before he got to 
sleep. He was not bitten, for Eedbird’s ‘‘medi- 
cine, ’ ’ which he had rubbed on his face and hands 
before retiring, kept them at a respectful distance. 
But their keen, thin, never-ending song was far 
from being a lullaby. 

It did not prove unpleasant to lie awake, how- 
ever. There were many noises to keep him com- 
pany. The soft rush of the water, which seemed 
to whisper to him with a friendly voice ; the grave 
note of the hoot owl ; the drumming of a lone par- 
tridge ; and the occasional faint cry of some other 
wild, feathered thing from far away. Once he 
heard the bark of a prowling fox. 

The river was a busy place the second day and 
during the balance of their journey. It fairly 
swarmed with waterfowl. Blue heron — ^long, 
gaunt fellows with thin necks and awkward, pipe- 
stem legs — stood meditatively in the shallows until 
the boat came around a near-by bend. Then they 
took wing lazily, flying only to the next bend before 
settling to the water again. Scores of wild ducks 
quarreled and squawked, but sprang to arrowlike 
flight on seeing the voyagers. 


Gliding Across a State 


177 


Two plump brown animals, sunning themselves 
on the hank, scuttled quickly away when Bunty 
cried, ‘^See the woodchucks!’’ Redbird did not 
agree, for he said smilingly, ‘‘Meadow beaver.” 
Later, they swept through a broken beaver dam 
and halted the boat to marvel at the cunningness 
of its construction. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


A MIDNIGHT VISITOE 

That afternoon they saw the first deer of the 
journey. A quick curve about a heavily-wooded 
point showed them half a mile of wide, shallow 
water ahead. Scarce a stone ’s throw away, a mag- 
nificent buck with great horns stood facing them. 
He had been taken completely by surprise. They 
were down the wind from him, so he could not scent 
them; and he had not heard them, for the boat 
had been gliding silently for some moments, dur- 
ing which time no one had spoken. 

He seemed fairly dazed at the sight of them, 
and stood motionless until the boat had traveled 
its own length. Then he whirled and fled grandly 
down the stream. Either he was too frightened 
to think of the bank, or else disdained to hide him- 
self at once in the thicket. 

Bunty yelled excitedly as the buck splashed 
ahead of them in great leaps. Redbird caught the 
spirit of the chase and poled in frantic pursuit. 
Mr. Prescott seized his camera and made breath- 
less efiForts to secure a picture of the forest 

178 


A Midnight Visitor 


179 


monarch, sitting astride the bow meanwhile. 

Just as he snapped the camera with a cry of 
triumph, the buck tired of the sport. He veered 
to the right bank and scrambled out of the water. 
The bank was at least twenty feet high, and steep. 
But it did not bother the animal, who climbed it 
without slackening speed, and disappeared in the 
scrub. 

''Daddy, wasnT he just splendid!^’ burst out 
the boy. 

"Indeed he was, old man. I don’t believe he 
was frightened much, either. Just having a little 
fun with us. I hope my picture of him is all 
right. ’ ’ 

"New way to shoot um,” grinned Eedbird. 
"Point little black box, say 'Click!’ and got um. 
Un-nh-hh!” 

The picture, when developed, proved to be one 
of the best of Mr. Prescott ’s collection, and he and 
Bunty are very proud of it. 

A routine similar to the first day was carried out 
that evening. The "drag” was thrown out when 
it came time for the trout to bite, and they set 
to work busily with their rods. Again the fish 
rose readily. When enough had been caught, a 
lookout was kept for a landing-place. A sandpit 
near the water was the choice once more. There 
was a spring and plenty of wood near by. 


180 


Bunty Prescott 


The sky was cloudless, and Mr. Prescott’s sug- 
gestion that they sleep without tents was received 
by Bunty with delight. So they made their beds 
in the open, with the sky for a canopy and the 
stars for bedroom candles. The shelter tents 
added two thicknesses of covering, and these 
proved very acceptable, for the night was sharply 
cool. 

The mosquitoes were not so thick as they had 
been, and their song no longer bothered the young 
voyager. After snuggling down in his warm bed 
he lost no time in getting to sleep. His father 
and Eedbird soon followed his example. 

It seemed to Bunty that he had not been asleep 
a minute when something caused him to start up, 
broad awake. For a moment, though, he did not 
know where he was. Then the steady lapping of 
the water, the twinkling stars, and the outlines of 
the hills recalled their situation. 

Wlien his eyes became accustomed to the dark- 
ness, he noted that his father and Eedbird were 
also sitting bolt upright in their beds, listening. 
What were they listening for? He could hear no 
unusual sound. Still, he felt that something out 
of the ordinary had awakened them. 

Ah ! A stealthy step on the gravel ! He turned 
his head toward the river and strained his eyes to 
pierce the gloom. Gradually he made out, against 


A Midnight Visitor 


181 


the shadow of the hill across the river, another 
shadow, stooping, irregular. ... A man was 
bending over their boat exploring its contents with 
cautious hands! 

The unwelcome visitor made a hissing sound, 
soon repeated. So grimly careful was it that 
Bunty was almost tempted to cry aloud. Another 
hiss; there must be two of them, whispering 
together! Only by a strong effort he kept his 
teeth from chattering. 

Meanwhile, Eedbird was cautiously getting out 
of bed. The pile of firewood was close by, and he 
groped quietly until his hand closed on a thick 
billet. With an ear-splitting yell he rushed at the 
stooping figure by the boat. Then he struck with 
all his might. 

The Indian ^s first blow was greeted by a 
grunt almost comical in its utter surprise. The 
marauder straightened up, to be pelted with a 
perfect shower of language and thumps: ‘‘Go on 
away (Thump!) ole fool! What you want! 
(Thump, thump!) Big thief ! (Thump!) I show 
you. (Thump, thump!) Take that! (Thump!) 
Smell ’round camp, hey? (Thump!) Git!” 
(Thump, thump, thump!) 

Grunting, sniffing and shuffling, the thief “got.” 
With the Indian at his heels, still belaboring him, 
he passed swiftly between Bunty and the stars — 


182 


BAiniy Prescott 


a great rough, stooping man. . . . No, not a 

man at all! Why it must he a bear! 

It was a hear, and a painfully bewildered one. 
Bruin did not dream of resistance. The attack 
upon him had been so sudden and so savage that 
all the fight was knocked out of him. The only 
idea left in his thick skull was to get away as 
quickly as possible. Probably he said to himself 
as he hurried noisily up the steep bank from the 
sandpit: ^^Was ever a poor bear treated so 
harshly before? All I wanted was a midnight 
lunch; a fellow must eat! And then this yelling 
man-person, with a big stick, heats me. I’m going 
right away from here ! ’ ’ And he went so rapidly 
that he was soon out of reach. 

Mr. Prescott had a light kindled when Eedbird 
came back, swinging his club. The Indian was 
chuckling so merrily that father and son laughed 
in sympathy. ‘ ‘ Give um bear what-for, un-nh-hh ? ’ ’ 
he said. ^ ‘ He wanted um bread and eggs, mebbe. 
No get; sore head; no come back!” 

They examined the contents of the boat, to find 
nothing missing and nothing damaged. The 
bear’s sniffing — which Hugo had mistaken for 
whispering — had awakened them before he had 
time to reach the coveted provisions. He had 
pawed things about somewhat, and that was all. 

‘‘Weren’t you afraid he’d bite you, Eedbird?” 



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With an ear-splitting yell Redbird rushed at the stooping 
figure by the boat. Then he struck with all his might. 







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A Midnight Visitor 


183 


asked Bunty, when they had discussed the mid- 
night visitor for some time. 

‘ ‘ No/ ^ said the Indian. ^ ^ Hungry hear, look out ; 
he had. This one no hungry ; fat. He hig 
coward. ’ ’ 

They went hack to hed presently, hut for a long 
time Bunty lay awake, looking up at the stars. 
Frequently he laughed to himself as he recalled 
what a sheepish figure Bruin cut as he retreated 
like a whipped schoolboy before the club and 
tongue of the vengeful Redhird. 


CHAPTER XXV 


A BAINY DAY ON THE EIVER 

Bunty examined eagerly the tracks on the sand 
next morning, as well as the hillside up which 
Bruin crawled his hasty way. The boy followed 
his trail through the bushes to the top, in the 
fanciful hope of seeing the animal again. The 
shaggy fellow seemed such a human sort of bear ! 
But he was not in sight ; probably he was far away, 
nursing some very sore bones. 

“I would give a good deal for a picture of the 
old rascal while you were driving him off,’’ said 
Mr. Prescott to the Indian. ‘^He looked so dis- 
gusted with himself, as he hunched his shoulders 
and ran!” 

^^You get some bear-picture,” promised Red- 
bird. ‘‘Bear thick through here. No hunt much, 
so no afraid. ’ ’ 

Sure enough, a few days later Mr. Prescott did 
get a photograph. The subject was a big black 
fellow who was sharpening his claws on a tree 
beside the river. So plump and well fed and 
contented with the world was he that he did not 

184 


A Rainy Day on the River 185 

deign to retreat until after the camera had clicked. 

The third, fourth and fifth days were like the 
first two days of the trip. The sun shone warmly 
and the nights were cool and clear. The boat 
went along famously; all had learned to manage 
it. Even Bunty took the paddle or the pole and 
threaded his way downstream for miles at a 
stretch. 

They lived up to the true sportsman’s creed: 
To kill only for food. They studied the wild 
things of the forest and stream and took pictures 
which were a more lasting source of satisfaction 
than any mere slaughter could possibly have been. 
^ ^Live and let live ’ ’ was their motto as they floated 
swiftly across the great, silent, fragrant state. 

The morning of the sixth day was misty. 
Before, the fog which blanketed the stream in the 
early hours had always been eaten up by the sun. 
But this day it persisted; the sun was hidden. 
‘ ‘ Eain, ’ ’ announced Eedbird tersely, as he sniffed 
the warm, moist breeze. 

They made all snug for had weather. The food 
supply was repacked. As it was now much smaller 
in bulk, the voyagers found it possible to stow it 
all in the space under the seats. One poncho 
covered the bundle of blankets and tents ; the other 
was given to Eedbird for his protection. Mr. 
Prescott and Hugo put on their oilskins and boots. 


186 


Bunty Prescott 


They started. As the fog was still thick, the 
drag was thrown out, and they crept along at a 
pace rather vexing, after the headlong rush of the 
other days. 

The expected rain began to fall, lightly and 
hesitatingly at first. Soon it settled into a beating 
storm. There was no lightning, and the wind did 
not blow strongly; but the big drops pattered 
down persistently. The brown water turned to 
gray beneath their tapping. 

The river was deserted. The clamoring water- 
fowl had sought shelter; even the trout did not 
leap and play, but stayed beneath the surface. 
They were busy gorging themselves on the worms 
and grubs which the countless little streams 
brought down to them. 

About ten o’clock the fog lifted and they were 
able to take off the drag. The boat shot forward 
buoyantly; it seemed much better than crawling 
along at a snail’s pace. But the journey was still 
an uncomfortable one. The air had gradually 
grown cooler. The biting rain splashed in their 
faces, and tried to force its way inside the oil- 
skins. Bunty felt as though he were just on the 
edge of a big shiver. 

At noon Mr. Prescott took counsel with Eedbird. 
‘‘Shall we stop?” he asked. “We could build a 
fire and wait for the storm to wear itself out.” 


A Rainy Day on the River 187 

Kedbird thought for some time before answer- 
ing. Then he made what was a long speech for 
him. ‘^No stop/^ he said; ‘^go on, mebbe. Town 
— Mio — not very far away. Dunno ; rain change 
river. But we go fast. Find town to-night, 
mebbe, or to-morrow. ’ ’ 

He looked steadily ahead, as if to pierce the 
rain curtain that overhung the river. Then he 
sniffed the air. ‘‘Heap rain yet,’’ he said. 

“Well, Bunty, what do you think about it?” 
asked Mr. Prescott. “Partners should consult 
together.” 

Bunty pondered gravely, as the Indian had 
done. He knew that a wet shelter tent is a 
cramped and cheerless place ; their blankets would 
gather moisture. It would be very uncomfortable 
to make camp. And he was not very comfortable 
now. 

Besides, Eedbird’s mention of a town had 
roused his interest. A settlement now would be 
a novelty worth seeing. Better plunge ahead, 
with the hope that each bend of the river would 
bring it into view, than be cooped up in camp, 
doing nothing but waiting. 

“Let’s keep going, daddy.” 

“Keep going it is,” smiled Mr. Prescott. 

So, hoping to secure shelter or outrun the 
storm, they kept on. For dinner they had bread. 


188 


Bunty Prescott 


a can of pork and beans, and a can of peaches. 
The meal was disposed of as the boat plunged 
ahead. One of the trio steered while the others 
ate. 

The afternoon was a miserable one. The rain 
fell without slackening. Mr. Prescott and Eed- 
bird were worried for fear the exposure would 
prove harmful to Bunty. But the boy tried to 
keep his good spirits, even though he was some- 
what chilled. Here and there the rain had soaked 
through until he was quite wet. 

On they went. The afternoon waned, and early 
dusk began settling down. Still the rain fell 
heavily. Soon it would be dark and unsafe to go 
farther. Eeluctantly they began looking for a 
landing place. 

^‘WeT have to stop somewhere beyond that 
point ahead, declared Mr. Prescott. He nodded 
at a heavily wooded tongue of land which thrust 
itself out into the stream. 

They swung around the point. Mr. Prescott 
was steering and Eedbird was busying himself 
with the drag. Daddy, daddy called Hugo, 
excitedly. ‘^'What’s that ahead! 

Straining their eyes through the rainy gloom, 
they saw the outlines of a bridge across the 
stream. 

‘‘Mio!^’ cried Eedbird joyously. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


THE ‘‘white water” 

With a gallant cheer the voyagers swung under 
the bridge and dropped their anchor. All was 
bustle, for brisk movement would fight off chills. 
Blankets and clothing were gathered up, and they 
hastened off toward town at a dog trot. 

The village was about a half mile from the river. 
The lamps had not yet been lighted in the strag- 
gling main street, but they easily found the one 
hotel. Soon a famous fire was roaring in the big 
stove in the office, and the travelers and their 
blankets were steaming. A ring of curious 
residents stood about, occasionally asking a 
question. 

Supper, a hot bath and a rubdown followed in 
rapid succession for Bunty. Before eight o’clock 
he was snugly tucked in bed beneath the roof, on 
which the rain drummed loudly. But now he was 
under shelter and the storm had a cozy sound. 
The rubdown had left him in a delightful glow, 
and he felt strong and rested. 

Mr. Prescott’s fear that the exposure would 
189 


190 


Bunty Prescott 


have a bad effect on his son was unfounded. The 
night ^s good sleep fully restored him, and he was 
anxious to continue the journey. The sun was 
shining with a warm brilliance ; everything seemed 
fresh and newly-washed. There was not a cloud 
in the sky, and Eedbird declared with conviction : 
‘‘No more rain!’’ 

The bill at the hotel was settled and purchases 
made of bread, butter and eggs. With their arms 
full of bundles, the voyagers returned to the river, 
accompanied by half the population of Mio. They 
found the boat undisturbed, though with some 
water in it from the rain. This was bailed out; 
the drag was lifted; and with cries of “Good 
luck!” from their new friends, the party swung 
out into the river and was off again. 

The journey was continued much as it had been 
before the storm. But the character of the river 
changed. The banks, in places, were clothed with 
great pine trees which had so far escaped the 
woodsman’s axe. But the section was being lum- 
bered, and there were many floating logs, all 
headed for the sawmills at the mouth of the 
Au Sable. 

Numerous logs had sunk during former years, 
and these had resulted in the building up of little 
islands in the stream. The big timbers, one end 
of which usually projected above the surface, 


The White Water^^ 


191 


caught floating driftwood and grasses. Seeds 
which lodged in the masses took root in sand bars 
which were formed. In a few years the island, 
crowned with tiny jack pines, reared its head 
bravely. 

Strangely enough, they saw no person, though 
there were evidences in the shape of the newly- 
cut logs that the wilderness was now inhabited. 
Once they heard the distant whistle of a locomotive 
on a logging road. 

Bunty was steering on the afternoon of the 
tenth day. The current did not seem so strong 
and they were gliding along gently, talking and 
laughing together. The river was narrow and 
quite deep. A sound gradually thrust itself on 
their attention. It was low at first, but increased 
in volume as they went forward. They paused 
in their talk to listen. There was a puzzled look 
on Eedbird’s face. 

‘ ‘ Sounds like a fall, ’ ’ said Mr. Prescott, as they 
swept around a great curve. 

With the words, Eedbird’s face cleared for a 
moment. He went forward and took the pole from 
Bunty ’s hands. A look of concern had replaced 
the puzzlement. ‘‘Back in middle. Little A¥liite 
Chief, he directed; “get paddle. Big Chief. 
Heap trouble.’’ 

“What is it, Eedbird?” queried Mr. Prescott. 


192 


Bunty Prescott 


< ‘ ‘ The White W ater . ’ Look ! ’ ’ 

Just ahead, the river had spread to three times 
its normal width. It was now almost a rifle shot 
from shore to shore. The current ran like a mill 
race. The shallow water was fretted by huge 
boulders, stranded logs and heaps of driftwood. 
Islands dotted its unquiet bosom. As far as the 
^ye could see, the stream was white with the foam 
of its own hurrying fury. 

There was no quiet current anywhere, and a safe 
passage seemed out of the question. So fierce 
was the hurly-burly that they were sure to be 
overturned. So, at least, believed Mr. Prescott. 
Eedbird, standing pole in hand in the bow, looked 
far from confident. But it was too late to 
withdraw. They were in for it. 

^‘PTow much of this, Eedbird?’’ shouted Mr. 
Prescott. The roar of the waters made hearing 
difficult. 

‘^Six-seven mile,” replied the Indian. ‘‘Here 
we go; look out!” And they plunged into the 
foam. 

The trip was gloriously exciting. They had no 
time to choose a course or to think what to do 
next. Their boat was the plaything of the waters. 
Eedbird plunged swiftly right and left with the 
pole, and Mr. Prescott seconded him with the 


The White Water^* 


193 


paddle. But the obstacles were so thick that all 
of them could not be avoided. 

Once they pelted swiftly into a flat rock, just 
below the surface. The boat stuck for a moment 
in the center; then the current rapidly whirled 
it end for end. Their experience with eddies 
helped them now, for they made no movement. 
Each held himself in instant readiness to throw 
his weight where it was most needed. 

The craft slipped off after a few seconds, ship- 
ping a little water as she did so ; but a lurch on the 
part of the voyagers righted her. Quick work 
with pole and paddle and she was again headed 
downstream. 

Frequently they grounded on gravelly bars. On 
such occasions Eedbird lightened ship by stepping 
out and shoving until the craft floated free. An 
eddy banged them broadside against a huge log, 
and the shock hurled Mr. Prescott bodily out of 
the boat. He landed neatly on the log, and still 
clinging to his paddle, crawled hastily aboard 
again. 

Bunty was still laughing merrily at his father’s 
astonished look, when the boat drove full tilt into 
a little island. Eedbird, giving all his attention 
to an ugly rock, had expected that the current 
would carry them around the island, instead of 
on top of it. He was taken by surprise and went 


194 


Bunty Prescott 


overboard with a splash. Bunty dived headlong 
into the bottom of the boat, but sustained no 
injury; his father came suddenly to his knees. 
They were up and oft again in an instant, Eedbird 
grinning sheepishly over his mishap. 

With the first few minutes, the voyagers had 
gained confidence in their ability to handle the 
boat, and from that time on they heartily enjoyed 
the trip through White Water. Bunty yelled 
with delight as each obstruction was met and 
safely passed, and broad smiles lighted up the 
faces of his father and the Indian. In fact, the 
lad voiced the sentiment of all of them when at 
last the boat glided into quiet water, and he cried : 
‘‘That was bully! I’m sorry it’s over.” 

They landed on a gently shelving beach to take 
stock. Their cargo had been wildly tossed about. 
Some of the eggs were broken, and a loaf or two 
of bread had had a dash of water. The boat was 
somewhat sprung from striking the log, but the 
damage was above the water line, so they had 
nothing to fear from leaks. Having repacked 
everything, they set out again. 

Many signs proved to them that they were near- 
ing the end of their journey. For two days prior 
to reaching the “White Water” it had been almost 
impossible to catch trout. The fierce pickerel, 
ranging upstream from Lake Huron, had driven 


The White Water^^ 


195 


the less bloodthirsty fish back. So they angled for 
pickerel with minnows and caught many of these 
stout, active fellows. They were good enough 
eating, though lacking the delicate flavor of trout* 

The stream bore more logs each mile they 
advanced, until it became difficult to force a pas- 
sage through it. At noon of the thirteenth day, 
Eedbird steered the boat to a landing place on the 
right bank. ‘^No go farther,’’ he announced. 
‘‘Man here take um boat down.” 

As they stepped ashore, they heard the sound 
of the long-drawn dinner whistle from the mill at 
Au Sable. They had come unscathed through the 
wilderness, and were knocking at the backdoor of 
frontier civilization. 


CHAPTER XXVII 




DUTY CALLS MR. PRESCOTT 

It was but three miles to the twin villages by 
road, though ten miles by river. A farmer near 
their landing place agreed to move the boat to 
Au Sable, taking in part payment the cooking 
utensils and the remaining canned provisions. 
Shouldering guns and rods and blanket rolls, the 
voyagers, having eaten their last meal by the 
river, started for town. 

Arriving there, they found that a coasting 
steamer which would take them to Cheboygan, the 
nearest point convenient to Grayling by railroad, 
would sail at dusk. Accommodations were secured 
and their baggage left on board the vessel. The 
farmer by this time had arrived with the craft 
which had served them so well on the river, and 
it was shipped back by rail. 

The afternoon was but half gone. There was 
nothing to do and little to see in the towns. The 
water attracted the trio, and soon they were stroll- 
ing along the shore of the lake, watching the blue 
waves roll ceaselessly in, calling each other’s 
196 


Duty Calls Mr. Prescott 


197 


attention to the occasional tiny whitecaps, and 
skipping flat stones over the heaving surface. 

At the skipping game, Bunty outclassed his 
father and Eedbird. He seemed to find the flattest, 
thinnest stones, and by bending low throw them 
so they barely touched the water for a long dis- 
tance. He held the record with nine ‘^skips’’ for 
one stone, while the best the others could do was 
three or four. 

They had supper on board ship. When the little 
vessel steered bravely out of the harbor there were 
anxious hearts aboard, for a thick fog had settled 
down with the coming of night. It was so dense 
that those on the bridge could see but a few yards 
in any direction and there was great danger of 
a collision. So the vessel proceeded only at half- 
speed, while the hoarse warning of her whistle 
sounded out over the tumbling lake. 

All night long, at thirty-second intervals, the 
siren would boom its lonesome note: ‘‘Hong — 
hong — hong!’’ And from near and far — to the 
right, to the left, dead ahead and in the rear, other 
vessels would answer “Hong — ^liong — ^hong!” 
Fortunately, there was no collision, though once 
or twice they were very near to other ships. 

The next day brought little improvement, the 
fog resting as obstinately as ever on the water. 
It was the morning of the second day before they 


198 


Bunty Prescott 


crept cautiously past the breakwater and between 
the long lines of lumber piles, to Cheboygan dock. 
Mr. Prescott heaved a sigh of relief when they 
walked down the gangplank, for he realized what 
danger they had been in. Later they read of no 
less than six collisions which had occurred on the 
Great Lakes during the foggy thirty-six hours. 

A south bound train was due to leave very soon, 
and they managed to get to the station in time, 
snatching a few mouthfuls of breakfast en route. 
In two hours they were in Grayling. 

Almost the first man they met there was Si Fox, 
who had driven in to buy some supplies. He 
greeted them heartily and pooh-poohed Mr. Pres- 
cott ^s plan to hire a livery to take them home. 
‘‘Plenty of room with me,’^ he declared. “Don’t 
think of hirin’ bosses. Some tradin’ to do now, 
but we’ll start in an hour, and you’ll be home by 
sundown. ’ ’ His prophecy proved good, for it was 
not yet dark when they turned into the clearing 
at Englishman’s Camp, and announced their 
appearance by a series of joyful whoops. 

Mr. and Mrs. Pugh were very glad to see them. 
Supper was prepared for all three, Eedbird 
having been persuaded to put off starting house- 
keeping for himself again until next morning. 

The Englishman pinched Bunty ’s round, tanned 
cheek, and declared the boy to be ten pounds 


Duty Calls Mr. Prescott 199 

heavier than when he went away. He was, indeed, 
looking splendidly well. His cough had gone com- 
pletely with the down-river journey. In fact, he 
was entirely cured of the stubborn illness which 
had sent him away from Detroit. 

After supper, when they were grouped in the 
Pugh living room, Mr. Prescott opened the two 
letters which had come for him during his absence, 
and which had come to the Grayling post oiBfice 
in care of Mr. Pugh. He read them carefully, and 
then was silent and thoughtful for a considerable 
time,, as though revolving something in his mind. 

Finally he said: ^‘Friends, I have learned 
something which makes it imperative for me to 
go to camp at Island Lake this summer — that is, 
if I am to stay in the National Guard service. The 
colonel writes me that there is a vacancy in our 
regiment for major, and that I can have the place 
if I will come. He urges me to do so, for several 
reasons. One is that we are almost sure to have 
war with Spain, he declares, over conditions in 
Cuba.’’ 

All listened quietly, Mr. Pugh removing his pipe 
from his mouth to nod his head several times. 
From reading the papers which occasionally fell 
into his hands, the Englishman had long since 
decided that the Spanish policy on the island 
would result, sooner or later, in American inter- 


200 


Bunty Prescott 


vention. This Spain would resent with bloodshed. 

‘‘I will read how he urges me to come,’’ con- 
tinued Mr. Prescott, unfolding the letter: ‘‘ ‘I 
think, my dear Prescott, that now is the best 
opportunity to secure the advancement which you 
deserve. I want you to be promoted for your 
own sake, but I have a selfish reason, also, for 
wishing it. There is no doubt in my mind that we 
are to have war. It will probably come within a 
year; and when we set off for the front I want 
to be surrounded by ofl&cers whom I can depend 
upon. 

^The rank of major is yours if you care for 
it. I realize that your son’s health is of more 
importance to you than a promotion; but if you 
can possibly get to camp, come. The promotion 
undoubtedly depends upon your being present. ’ ’ ’ 
Mr. Prescott folded the letter again and 
returned it to its envelope. ‘‘What shall I do?” 
he asked. i 

‘ ‘ Go, ’ ’ said Mr. and Mrs. Pugh, in a breath. 
“But what about Hugo? I don’t want to take 
him back to Detroit. Camp is also out of the 
question, for it Is very hot down there. ’ ’ « 

“He could stay here, Prescott,” said the Eng- 
lishman. “Molly and I and Eedbird could look 
after him. It’s only for a week or so, isn’t it?” 
“Ten days. Your offer is a kind one, and I 


Duty Calls Mr. Prescott 


201 


thank yon heartily for it. But it^s for Hngo to 
say. If he doesn^t want me to go, I shall not go. 
What shall it be, old manT’ 

‘‘Well, daddy,’’ replied the boy, thoughtfully, 
“I shall miss you, but you must go. It wouldn’t 
be right to keep you away.” 

“Thank you, son. I feel that it is my duty to 
go. I owe the state this much, at least, for the 
training it has given me : To accept the responsi- 
bilities which may be offered me, and to accept 
active service, if such service becomes necessary. 
So I ’ll wire Col. Mainwaring to-morrow to expect 
me at camp.” 


CHAPTEE XXVIII 


LOST IN THE WILDEENESS 

'‘My son,” said Mr. Prescott, a few days later, 
in bidding Bnnty good-bye, "I couldn’t go and 
leave yon this way unless I bad confidence in you. 
I am trusting to your own good sense to do the 
right things while I am gone. Situations may 
come up — will come up, most likely — ^which 
neither of us can foresee. But under all circum- 
stances be careful; don’t get scared; and try not 
to do anything I wouldn’t want you to do. Will 
you remember those things?” 

Bunty promised to remember, and his father 
kissed him and went away. Mr. Pugh drove him 
to Grayling, where it would be necessary to spend 
the night in order to catch an early train south the 
next morning. Hugo and Eedbird watched him 
out of the clearing, and waved their hands just 
before the big trees shut him from view. 

The Pughs wanted Bunty to stay in their home 
during his father’s absence, but he preferred to 
sleep in the tent, especially as Eedbird promised 
to remain near him. There was the usual camp 
202 


Lost in the Wilderness 


203 


fire the first night, and the Indian and Mr. and 
Mrs. Pngh did their best to keep it from being 
a lonesome one for Bunty. The Englishman talked 
more than Bunty had ever heard him talk before, 
telling wonderful stories of hunting and fishing. 
Eedbird gave some interesting legends which had 
been handed down by his people from gen- 
eration to generation. All in all, it was a pleas- 
ant evening, and bedtime came before the boy 
realized it. 

Eedbird had learned a good deal by observa- 
tion ; so he tucked Bunty into bed much as he had 
seen the boy^s father do. Then he rolled himself 
in a couple of blankets and lay down by the glow- 
ing fire, gruffly refusing to occupy Mr. Prescott’s 
bed. That happened each night Mr. Prescott was 
away, except one, when it rained. Then Eedbird 
stretched himself on the floor of the parlor” 
tent. His muscles were so hardened that he did 
not mind the unyielding surface at all. 

Time passed much as it had before, except that 
Bunty wrote a letter to his father every day, and 
received one in reply every day. Either Mr. Pugh 
or one of the Foxes or some of the fishermen in 
the camps down the river, brought up the mail 
and took outgoing letters to the post office. 

The boy and the faithful Indian fished for trout, 
practiced with rifle and revolver, and tramped 


204 


Bunty Prescott 


through the barrens, the Indian taking pains to 
impart his wide woods lore to his little friend. 
Partially through this teaching, Bunty learned to 
recognize the birds and animals and fishes of 
Michigan when he saw them. Also he knew some- 
thing of their haunts and habits. He could name, 
as well, the trees and plants and grasses. He 
could tell you that balsam fir branches made the 
best bed, for he had tried all kinds of camp-fash- 
ioned beds. He knew which berries were good for 
food and which were worthless or poisonous. 

He taught himself to walk habitually without 
noise in the forest, exercising the same care as 
his Indian mentor. Not a leaf rustled beneath his 
feet; not a swishing branch betrayed him. His 
caution in this respect enabled him to see more 
than falls to the lot of one who walks carelessly 
or clumsily where wild things are. 

Their daily program included some practice in 
archery. Eedbird made several heavy, feathered 
arrows, each headed with a sharp nail, and set up 
a target at which to shoot them. Hugo used 
the bow the Indian had previously given him, 
and in this sport, too, became quite proficient. 
Baseball was not neglected, the Foxes coming 
over frequently to play ^ ‘ rotation. ’ ’ 

Hugo had never visited the Fox home, though 
frequently invited to do so. When the boys cap- 


Lost in the Wilderness 


205 


tured a couple of cub bears, however, and urged 
him to come over and see the little fellows, 
he decided to do so. Accordingly, after he and 
Eedbird had eaten an early dinner one day, they 
started for the settler cabin. 

It was a gray, sunless afternoon, with a hint 
of coming rain. They left the clearing on the 
trail to Big Sable, but soon branched oif, follow- 
ing a narrow road to the right. Fox lived some 
distance east of Sable. The distance to Fox’s 
from Englishman’s Camp was said to be two 
miles, but distances are elastic in the north 
country, and in reality it was nearer four. 

The river purled along on their right most of 
the way, though out of sight behind its screen of 
underbrush. A leisurely walk of an hour and a 
half brought then! to their destination. 

Originally Fox had built the common square 
log cabin of one room, but as his family grew up 
they needed more room. So lean-tos were built 
to the rear, or west — the cabin, standing on a 
slight knoll, faced the east — and on the north as 
well. 

The place was not so neat or comfortable as 
Pugh’s. Yet it showed considerable care and 
labor, nevertheless. Quite a space back of the 
house had been cleared of stumps and jack pines 
and had been planted in corn, potatoes, cabbages. 


206 


Bunty Prescott 


onions, peas and other vegetables. There were 
two stacks of marsh hay by the log barn, near 
which another enclosure had also been fenced for 
the horses. A few rude farming implements were 
strewn about the yard. Under the wide eaves of 
the low roof, fishpoles were hanging on pegs. 

The whole Fox family, including Mrs. Fox, a 
little woman in a faded calico dress, greeted them. 
They were invited in, but Bunty ^s northern train- 
ing had already made him feel that an hour of 
good weather spent indoors, without reason, was 
an hour wasted. Besides, there were the cubs, 
just begging to be played with. . 

They were active little black fellows, as tall 
as an ordinary-sized dog, but thicker and heavier. 
They were fastened by means of long chains, each 
to his own pole. The poles had been driven firmly 
into the ground, and a wide iron ring at the end 
of the chain slipped over the top. The cubs were 
close enough to play together, but far enough 
apart so the chains would not become tangled 
and cause trouble. 

Never did cubs have a better time. They played 
together like kittens, wrestling earnestly as they 
stood upright on their hind legs, or cuffing one 
another as they tussled in the sand. The Foxes 
took a hand in the fun, too, though being careful 
not to anger the little bears. The animals’ claws 


Lost in the Wilderness 


207 


were as sharp as steel, and each of the lads bore 
scratches to prove it. 

About five o’clock Bunty and Eedbird started 
homeward, quite unwillingly, too, for the boy felt 
he could play with the cubs for a week without 
tiring of them. They had gone some distance 
down the trail when Fox called Eedbird back to 
give him a message to the Englishman. 

Bunty sat down on a stump to await the Indian’s 
return. As was his custom, he remained perfectly 
quiet. Presently a twig cracked behind him. He 
turned to look squarely into the inquiring face 
of a baby deer, scarce ten feet away. 

The fawn was a tiny fellow, with beautiful 
brown eyes, spotted coat, and long, slender legs. 
He had not yet learned to fear mankind, though 
doubtless his mother had tried to teach him that 
these strange, two-legged animals were danger- 
ous. He was curious, but not afraid. He wrinkled 
his nose daintily, and even advanced a slim fore- 
leg a bit as he sniffed. 

Bunty felt an overwhelming desire to make 
friends with this graceful, wild thing of the bar- 
rens and stroke the soft coat and let the velvety 
nose nuzzle his hand. So he began getting care- 
fully off the stump. He moved very slowly, know- 
ing that sudden motion would probably startle 
the fawn to flight. 


208 


Bunty Prescott 


It took considerable time to reach the ground, 
hut at last he did so. Then he inched forward, 
scarcely daring to breathe, while his hand was 
outstretched in friendly fashion. 

But when he was within two yards of the deer, 
the little animal felt the stirring of instinct within 
him, and turning, trotted briskly away. Caution 
warned him that this quiet creature came of a 
species which warred upon his people. And yet, 
he seemed inoffensive and friendly. So the fawn 
stopped, and looked curiously over his shoulder. 

Bunty advanced again, repeating his former 
tactics of going carefully when within easy dis- 
tance of the fawn. Again he was permitted to 
get almost within touch before the fawn trotted 
off. 

A third and a fourth time the fawn played tag 
with Bunty, who was now utterly engrossed with 
the game. He forgot Eedbird, probably expect- 
ing him in the trail behind ; he looked neither to 
the right nor to the left as he followed the fawn up 
and down hill, around a small swamp and through 
groves of jack pines. It was a fascinating chase. 

After perhaps half an hour of this fruitless 
pursuit, it was borne in upon him that the fawn 
did not intend to let him get too near, so he 
changed his tactics. When the little animal 
stopped again, the boy advanced slowly, with hand 


Lost in the Wilderness 


209 


outstretched, until the fawn had almost made up 
his mind to trot away again. Then Bunty sud- 
denly dashed forward and attempted to capture 
it by clasping his arms about its neck. 

This was too much. The fawn, now thoroughly 
frightened, broke away and ran wildly, with Bunty 
at his heels. For a little while the boy kept up 
fairly well ; but the fawn, young as he was, proved 
too fast, and gradually drew away. Bunty became 
aware of a crashing in the hushes at his right, 
and glanced over to see two full grown deer, a 
buck and a doe, running along parallel with his 
course. They had been near all the time, watching 
his efforts to make friends with the fawn. 

He stopped disappointedly on a small rise. The 
big deer changed their course to join the fawn. 
The three of them, still running easily, ascended 
another slope, dodged through a jack pine grove 
on the top, and disappeared down the other side. 

Bunty awoke to his situation with a start. Jack 
pine plains, utterly strange in appearance, bil- 
lowed away to the horizon on every hand. There 
was no sign of a trail, nor of human habitation 
anywhere. A dead silence followed the vanishing 
of the deer. Even the birds were gone. In sud- 
den panic he called ‘‘Eedbird!’’ with all his 
might. 

Nothing answered but the echoes, though he 


210 


Bunty Prescott 


called again and again. Neither the Indian nor 
any other person was within sight or hearing. He 
sank down on a log and covered his face with his 
hands. He was lost in the wilderness I 


CHAPTEE XXIX 


BTJNTY LEAKNS SELF-DEPENDENCE 

For a few moments he was more frightened 
than he had ever been before in all his life. Lost, 
miles from the nearest house; lost, without food 
or means of getting it. Such a situation has 
appalled stouter hearts than that of a boy who 
had always been sheltered and cared for. 

But Bunty felt that it was not the time to give 
up; he must hurry if he wished to escape from 
this great, hushed loneliness before night. He 
sprang to his feet and gazed eagerly about. Soon 
he felt that he remembered the exact direction in 
which the Fox cabin lay. The longer he looked, 
the more certain he felt that it was beyond a 
certain distant ridge of hills. The ridge seemed 
higher than the gentle slope he had climbed in 
pursuit of the fawn; but it was probably the 
distance which made it look so steep. 

So he set out toward the hills. He was quite 
hopeful at first, and walked steadily, though not 
very fast. Then, as they seemed to remain a 
long way off, he hurried his footsteps. Presently 
he was running breathlessly. 

211 


212 


Bunty Prescott 

When at last he reached the base of the hills, 
poor Bunty was sure that he had not crossed 
them, and that he was more hopelessly lost than 
ever. For the hundredth time that afternoon he 
gazed at the sky, in the hope that some slight 
glimmer from the sun would guide him. But it 
was hidden behind a gray pall of clouds which 
gave him no idea at all of its whereabouts. Feel- 
ing very friendless and alone the boy sank down 
on a log and burst into tears. 

He cried bitterly for some minutes. The jack 
pine country, which had seemed so quiet and 
friendly when he was with his father or Redbird, 
now teemed with unknown terrors. There were 
bears and wolves wandering about, he knew; and 
he could not defend himself from them. He car- 
ried no weapons. Even if a wild animal did not 
attack him, he would be very lonesome, here in the 
wilderness, far from a human being. 

He pictured to himself the consternation of Red- 
bird and the Pughs, and the search which would 
be undertaken if, indeed, the Indian was not 
searching for him already. WTien this thought 
came he rose to his feet again, looked about, and 
called Redbird ’s name with all his might. But 
only the cruel echoes answered; there was no 
friendly stir in all the pigmy forest. 

But his native courage soon reasserted itself. 


Bunty Learns Self-Dependence 213 

He dried Ms eyes and tried manfully to smile. 
After all, it meant only a few hours of hunger 
and cold and weariness. He was sure to be res- 
cued next day. He would ascend the ridge above 
him to look for landmarks which might guide him 
to Englishman’s Camp. Then he would proceed 
carefully in what he believed to be the right direc- 
tion. When darkness came he would halt for the 
night and build a fire. 

With the thought of a fire, he felt for the water- 
proof packet of matches in the pocket of his shirt. 
It was safe. He was glad that he had obeyed his 
father’s warning to keep matches always by him. 
What else was it? . . . Hadn’t there been 
something else mentioned which would help him 
in trouble like this ? They had talked about it, he 
remembered, by the camp fire one night — ^hurrah, 
he knew: The compass! 

There it was, strapped in its accustomed place 
on his left wrist, the little needle swinging free. 
He was saved! 

Flushed with joyous excitement, he turned his 
arm until the red-pointed tip rested directly over 
the letter ‘‘N.” The result puzzled him. Why, 
the needle pointed to the ridge behind him ! That 
was north. All the time, in his panic-stricken 
flight, he had been running directly away from 
camp, which was in the south ! He had been pene- 


214 Bunty Prescott 

trating deeper and deeper into the heart of the 
wilderness. 

Confident now, he reasoned carefully what to do. 
The Fox cabin was directly north of Englishman’s 
Camp. It would be simple enough to start from 
Fox’s, and disregarding the road, strike back to 
Pugh’s by the compass alone. But in chasing the 
fawn, he knew that he had gone east or west 
as well as north. So a course straight south 
from where he stood might not bring him to the 
clearing. 

That made the boy look blank again. Unless he 
knew whether he were east or west of Pugh’s, he 
might miss it quite easily. ... No! The 
Grayling road ran east and west between the vil- 
lage and the clearing. He believed that he was 
well acquainted with that, and could distinguish it 
from the ordinary trails through the brush. Once 
upon it, even were he three or four miles west of 
Pugh’s, he would be safe. And he must be to the 
west, for the river was on the east of the English- 
man’s. And there was neither sight nor sound 
of the river from that point. 

All this was not reasoned out as quickly and 
easily as might be inferred from the description. 
It took time and much thought. At times, he was 
far from sure that his reasoning was right. At 
such moments it was all he could do to keep from 


Bunty Learns Self-Dependence 215 

yielding to his fears and loneliness again. But 
he mastered himself bravely, and set otf sturdily 
to the south. 

The journey over the back trail was quite 
uneventful, though longer than Hugo expected. 
He had wandered farther than he realized. As 
the darkness came down, his heart sank, for the 
scrub, uncrossed by road or path, lengthened out 
endlessly before him. He halted again and again 
to examine his compass. 

He was tired and footsore. The loose sand 
made walking slow and painful. He was not hun- 
gry, though conscious of a great emptiness within 
him. The temptation to cry and to call for his 
father was almost overpowering. But he puck- 
ered up his lips, instead, and whistled a pitiful 
little tune as he stumbled bravely onward. 

He pitched over a hidden root and plunged head- 
long into an open space. Parallel lines of sand 
gleamed white to the right and left, where wagon 
wheels had worn away the coarse grass. The 
Grayling road! 

He arose and paused to get his bearings. Yes, 
the trail had a familiar look. There was that big 
stump by the roadside to the left. He was sure 
he had seen it before. He hurried to the eastward, 
passed the big stump — and found himself at the 
entrance of the clearing. The lights from Pugh’s 


216 Bunty Prescott 

house glimmered in friendly fashion through the 
trees ! 

^^Un-nh-hhr^ 

Bunty whirled in his tracks at the sound. 
Behind him in the road stood Eedbird ! 

‘‘Why, Eedbird!’^ he cried happily. “I’m so 
glad to see you again. I was lost out there. Where 
have you beenf” 

The Indian pointed to the north. “Behind 
you. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Behind me ? Why, what do you mean ? ’ ’ 

“I saw you run after fawn. I run, too. Deer 
go over um hill. Little White Chief lost. Sit 
down; get up; run to um hill; cry. Bimeby see 
what way to go. Eedbird follow. Un-nh-hh!” 

“Eedbird,” began Bunty. His voice quivered. 
The Indian’s explanation made him feel almost 
as lonesome as he had felt in the wilderness. His 
friend had deserted him in the hour of need! 
“You — ^you let me wander around out there and 
wouldn’t help me? I was dreadfully frightened! 
You really did that, Eedbird?” The tears were 
very near the surface. 

The Indian nodded impassively. 

“Why?” 

The Indian glided forward and laid his brown 
hand caressingly on Bunty ’s shoulder. “Listen: 
Little White Chief lost. Eedbird near, but you 


Bunty Learns Self-Dependence 217 

no see him. Little White Chief all alone. Heap 
scared first. Bimeby think what Big White Chief 
say to do if he get lost. Little White Chief no cry 
then; heap brave. Look at um compass; think 
hard. Go right way all alone. Never get lost 
again ! ’ ^ 

Bnnty was thoughtful for a few moments. Red- 
bird ^s words showed that he had been a true friend 
— truer than if he had appeared when the boy 
first realized his trouble. He was teaching in his 
own crude way that the wilderness is cruel and 
merciless to the weak, but that the strong and self- 
reliant may conquer it. Fear makes one weak. 
And Bunty, by rising above his fear, would not 
feel it again when alone in the scrub. He had 
become strong and self-reliant. Leaning on no 
one, he had beaten the terrors of the barrens. 

‘‘Is that why you didn’t help me — so I would 
learn to depend more on myself, Redbird?” 

Redbird nodded again. “Yes. I help you now, 
some day you get lost, Redbird not near, mebbe ; 
Big White Chief not near. Little White Chief 
die then, all alone. No die now; no get lost 
again. ’ ’ 

Bunty slipped his hand into that of the Indian. 

“You are right, Redbird,” he said, simply. “I 
won’t be afraid at all, the next time, for I know 
I can find my way out.” 


218 


Bunty Prescott 


With light hearts they set out towards Pugh’s. 
As they approached, a delicious aroma was wafted 
to them. Mrs. Pugh was getting supper. ‘‘My, 
that ’s good ! ’ ’ said the boy. ‘ ‘ Aren ’t you hungry, 
Eedbird? I am!” 


CHAPTER XXX 


BUNTY LEAENS TO SWIM 

The time which Mr. Prescott was away proved 
very eventful. Before his return, Bunty had 
another adventure which came near costing his 
life. Indeed, had it not been for his newly found 
self-reliance, which enabled him to think coolly 
and quickly, he could not have saved himself. 

Shortly after the visit to the Foxes, ‘‘Little 
Round Fox and “Red’’ Fox came over and sug- 
gested that they go fishing in Lost Lake. The 
lake, which has been mentioned before in this 
story, is a good-sized sheet of water some distance 
east of the Au Sable in the barrens. There were 
perch and bass and pickerel in it, the boys de- 
clared, almost begging to be caught. Bunty had 
never seen the lake, and was anxious to go. Red- 
bird agreed to the trip. So the four of them 
started. 

The journey was quite long, so they carried 
their noonday lunch with them. Redbird bor- 
rowed one of Mr. Pugh’s boats to ferry them 
across the Au Sable, tying it to a root on the east 
shore to await their return. 


219 


220 


Bunty Prescott 


After an hour’s difficult walking they came to a 
well-defined path. Eedbird pronounced it a deer- 
run, used by deer and other animals on their way 
to water. There were plenty of signs that it had 
been recently used, though they saw no living 
thing except the birds. 

The lake proved to be a placid, sparkling sheet 
of water about one mile wide by two miles long. 
There was a boat on an inlet in the west shore, 
for the use of the few fishermen who came there. 
After lunch they embarked in it, using pieces of 
pine for paddles. The Fox boys knew the holes 
where the big fellows lurked, and all were soon 
fishing patiently. The fish bit ravenously, and 
after an hour’s royal sport the four had all the 
fish they could carry home. 

It was still early. ‘‘Eoundy” suggested that 
they go in bathing. The others agreed, with 
shouts of approval. So the boat was rowed back 
to the inlet. There they undressed hastily and 
jumped into the water. It was shallow for a long 
distance out, and there seemed to be no danger. 

But Bunty, though he paddled and splashed as 
noisily as the rest, could not make himself believe 
that he was doing right. He felt that his father 
would not approve of his course. It had been 
understood between them that he would teach 
Bunty to swim on his return from Island Lake. 


Bunty Learns to Swim 


221 


Bunty argued to himself that there was no dan- 
ger; even a hundred yards from shore the water 
came scarcely to his waist. Besides, Redhird, who 
could swim like a seal, was near, and would save 
him did he get beyond his depth. Yet, despite 
these arguments, he did not have a good time ; his 
conscience kept troubling him. 

The water seemed cold at first. Soon they did 
not mind it, for the air was delightfully warm. 
Both ‘^Roundy’^ and ^‘Red’’ could swim, and 
puffed stoutly into deep water. They frequently 
returned to where Bunty played about, lapped by 
the little waves. 

Gradually he forgot his fears and the pricking 
of his conscience. He worked out into the lake. 
The water rose to his shoulders when he was oppo- 
site the point of land on the right. There were 
two of these little peninsulas, and they encircled 
the inlet like arms. 

Redhird hovered near his little friend, swim- 
ming, floating, treading water — acting very much, 
in fact, like a great brown fish. 

A sharp yell from ‘‘Roundy’^ attracted their 
attention. He pointed excitedly toward the shore. 
Their boat had worked loose, and now, driven by 
a slight breeze and urged by the current, it was 
drifting away from them, out of the inlet to the 
north. The craft was already some distance away 


222 


Bunty Prescott 


and following a course which widened the gap 
between itself and the swimmers every moment. 
The fish and their clothing were aboard it. 

Eedbird, who at that moment was floating com- 
fortably on his back, turned over and started in 
pursuit of the runaway. His powerful arms cut 
the water with the regularity of propeller blades. 
The Fox boys started, too, but kept close inshore. 
Bunty was left by himself, standing in the water. 
It came almost to his chin, and swayed him gently 
back and forth. 

It was to be, evidently, something of a chase. 
The boat had been seized by a current which 
swung around the other arm of the inlet and 
down the shore. Eedbird gained but little at first. 
The Foxes worked hard, sending up a great deal 
of spray with their heels, though not getting 
ahead much. 

Bunty,. facing the shore, turned to watch the 
procession, which was oif to his right. To get a 
better view he stepped back toward the point. His 
foot encountered only the steep edge of a sandbank 
which fell away abruptly. 

He sank in twelve feet of water. The current, 
sweeping around the southern point to enter the 
inlet, had gouged out a hole in the yielding bot- 
tom. The result was a dangerous trap to anyone 
who could not swim. 


Bunty Learns to Swim 


223 


The boy was taken so completely by surprise 
that he could not struggle. Sparks seemed to 
flash before his eyes as he went down; the water 
roared in his ears. He gasped for breath, and the 
inrush of water at mouth and nostrils nearly 
strangled him then and there. He beat wildly 
with arms and legs. 

He did not quite reach the bottom before ascend- 
ing again. His struggles helped him upward and 
at last, after what seemed a long, long time, he 
shot to the surface, into the sunshine and blessed 
air. He breathed twice, in great, sobbing breaths, 
bringing relief to his bursting lungs. Then the 
waters closed over his head again. 

This time he did not remain under so long. The 
mad thrashing of his limbs brought him up within 
a few seconds. But already he was very tired. 
His muscles ached from the violent strain put 
upon them. His endurance was fast going. 

Had the boy remained panic-stricken he would 
surely have drowned. But the first surprise over, 
a measure of coolness returned. The thought of 
his escape from the barrens flashed into his mind 
and encouraged him. He had remembered, even 
while the water gurgled in his ears, a talk about 
swimming which he had had with his father. 

‘‘Bunty,’’ his father had said, as they sat by 
the camp fire one evening, “if you can remember 


224 


Bunty Prescott 


a few simple rules, you will learn to swim quite 
easily. First, put your hands together under your 
chin, thumbs touching, elbows pointing outward 
just below the surface. Move your hands outward 
and downward, backs inward, the fingers of each 
hand extended and joined. The first push will 
keep your head above water. When both arms are 
fully extended, sweep them hack until they touch 
your legs. Then bring them back to your chin for 
another stroke. 

‘‘As for your legs, use them just like a frog. A 
frog swims as though he were kicking something, 
both legs wide apart. Don’t draw your knees 
under you ; he doesn ’t. Kick only when your hands 
are extended for the stroke. And don’t hurry; 
make both the kick and the stroke slowly. That’s 
all. It’s one of the easiest things in the world to 
learn to swim.” 

He seemed to hear his father’s voice, encour- 
aging him to struggle on, and new strength came 
to him. When he reached the surface again, he 
was ready to put the directions into play. Up 
came the hands under his chin. He made the wide 
sweep with extended arms, and kicked out vigor- 
ously with his feet. But fear was upon him, and 
the moves were made too hastily. He had moved 
but a few inches toward the shore when his head 
went under again. 


Bunty Learns to Swim 


225 


The immersion did not worry him as much as 
the strain upon his limbs. He had regained con- 
trol of his breathing somewhat, and could get air 
more regularly. But his muscles seemed in- 
capable of another movement. 

Back on the surface, he went through the frog- 
like movements very languidly. His arms could 
scarcely obey the directions of his brain. His 
lungs seemed knotting with pain, and his heart 
pounded heavily. 

But to his joy he found that he was able to keep 
afloat a little longer. His very weakness was now 
in his favor ; it kept him from making the strokes 
too rapidly. One stroke — two — three. He was 
gaining a little; Was he really nearer shore, 
though ? Four — five — 

Arms and legs gave out utterly. He sank, but 
only to his shoulders; his feet had touched the 
bottom ! 

Sobbing with weakness and relief, he struggled 
to shore and threw himself on the warm sand. 
There he lay, scarce able to move, until Eedbird 
and the Foxes returned with the captured boat. 

Bunty could not have been more than eight feet 
from safety at any time, yet it had been a life 
and death struggle to fight his way out of the 
hole. Afterwards he found that he had learned 
perfectly how to swim. 


CHAPTEE XXXI 


ME. PEESCOTT STAETS A SCHOOL 

A few days later Mr. Prescott returned and was 
warmly welcomed by the little settlement in and 
about Englishman’s Camp. He had a gift for 
each of them: A meerschaum pipe for Pugh; a 
little gold pin for Mrs. Pugh ; a punching bag for 
Bunty; a new hunting-knife for Eedbird; and 
something for every one of the Fox family. One 
of their gifts was a set of boxing gloves, and these 
became instantly popular. In fact, not a day 
passed thereafter but the gloves were in use, the 
boys nearest a size pummeling each other good- 
naturedly. 

‘‘Eed” Fox had an ear for music. He had been 
much taken with Reveille which Bunty had 
taught him, and his clear, melodious whistle made 
the barrens ring with it. For him Mr. Prescott 
had bought a bugle, a present which the boy 
received with the keenest delight. It was quite 
easy to teach him to read music. Soon, from a 
drill book which was lent him, he had mastered 
all the military calls. He was, Mr. Prescott 
226 


Mr, Prescott Starts a School 227 

declared, more than half a soldier, and a good deal 
of a musician as well. 

Father and son had a long talk. Bunty man- 
fully confessed his disobedience in bathing in Lost 
Lake, and the struggle for life which it had cost 
him. The consequences of the act, Mr. Prescott 
felt, had proved punishment enough. So Bunty 
did not receive the scolding which he believed he 
deserved. He and Eedbird together told of the 
former’s being lost in the barrens. The Indian’s 
course in letting Bunty find his way out was 
entirely approved by Mr. Prescott. 

One crisp morning, when the hint of coming 
frost was in the air, Mr. Prescott, his eyes twink- 
ling, asked: “Don’t you hear something out of 
the ordinary, old man?” 

The boy bent his head and listened long and 
intently. “Why, no,” he said, puzzled. “I don’t 
believe I hear a thing, daddy. What does it sound 
like?” 

“Bells.” 

‘ ‘ Bells ? ’ ’ echoed Bunty, wonderingly. ‘ ‘ I didn ’t 
know there was a bell nearer than Grayling. ’ ’ 

“There isn’t. But bells are echoing all over the 
country to-day.” 

“Why are they, daddy?” 

“It’s the first Monday in September.” 


228 


Bunty Prescott 


‘ ‘ 0-o-oh ! ’ ’ said Bunty, opening his eyes. ‘‘It’s 
the first day of school. ’ ’ 

“Yes,” replied his father, nodding briskly, 
“and the district school at Englishman’s Camp is 
about to open. Ding-dong, ding-dong ! ’ ’ 

Gravely father and son marched in and took 
seats under the fly. With equal gravity Eedbird 
joined them. “Injun go um school, too,” he 
announced. ‘ ‘ Un-nh-hh ! ’ * 

As is the custom of most schools, the scholars 
were duly enrolled and then dismissed for the day. 
The next morning, however, the sessions began in 
earnest. Bunty took up the same work which his 
friends were doing in the Forest Avenue school, 
hack in Detroit. Eedbird began patiently at the 
bottom, for he had never learned to read and 
write. 

But he was in earnest, and applied himself well. 
The alphabet, the copy book and the multiplication 
table were more a mystery to him than the most 
obscure trail in the forest. 

Sessions were held only in the forenoons. After 
dinner, master and pupils toiled until dark, get- 
ting ready for winter. From logs chosen care- 
fully from the great pile, the addition to the cabin 
was built. Eedbird ’s skill helped much in this 
work. Mr. Pugh lent a hand in getting the timbers 
up onto the wall, after they had been trimmed. 


Mr, Prescott Starts a School 229 

and notched at each end to fit snngly. Bnnty 
chinked both the addition and the main cabin with 
mortar so the frost conld not penetrate. 

Lumber was brought from Grayling, and with 
it floors were relaid and the roof repaired. It also 
furnished the material for new, tight-fitting doors. 
The logs remaining after the addition was finished 
were cut in proper lengths for the fireplace and 
the stove. On this task Mr. Prescott and Eed- 
bird took turns at the crosscut saw. K lean-to 
shed in which to store the wood was added to the 
rear of the cabin. Under the same shelter a well 
was driven, an iron pump bringing up plenty of 
good water. 

Mr. Prescott and Bunty still clung to their tent- 
home, though the frosts had come by this time. 
They awoke mornings to see a world of sparkling 
white spread out before them. The trees and 
shrubs took on the beautiful hues of autumn, and 
a thin scum of ice formed now and then on quiet 
pools along the Au Sable. 

They noted these changes with regret. Walls 
and a roof would seem almost stifling after the 
happy months spent practically in the open. They 
resolved to postpone as long as possible the day 
when they must move into the cabin. 

Kedbird decided to stay in Pugh’s barn all win- 
ter, though they urged him to share the cabin with 


230 


Bunty Prescott 


them. The Englishman lent him a stove and Mr. 
Prescott helped bnild him a chimney, with the 
result that his quarters were fully as comfortable 
as their own promised to be. His evenings he still 
spent with father and son, tending the big camp 
fire, which became increasingly necessary as the 
season waned. 

Mr. Prescott saw that it would be best, because 
of bad weather, to prepare at least part of their 
own meals during the winter. With his customary 
thoroughness he prepared to do so. He sent for a 
cookbook, and laid in ample supplies of food of all 
kinds. In fact, no detail necessary for comfort in 
the wilderness was forgotten. They were thor- 
oughly fortified for the long siege of cold weather. 

School had been in session for about a week 
when Si Fox came over one evening to call upon 
them. They talked of various things. It was easy 
to see that Fox had a reason for being there. Yet 
it was some time before he got around, bashfully, 
to state the object of his visit. But it came out at 
last : He had heard of the school. 

‘‘If ye don’t mind, Mr. Prescott,” he said, hesi- 
tatingly, “I’d like my boys to get some schoolin’. 
They’re good lads, and smart enough ; but there’s 
no chance out here to learn anything besides 
huntin’ and fishin’. They may not want to stay in 
the backwoods always. And when they do go out 


Mr, Prescott Starts a School 231 

into the world, I don^t want ’em to say their father 
kept ’em from gettin’ educated. If you could take 
’em in, Mr. Prescott, I’d be willin’ to pay ” 

‘‘Indeed, Fox, I shall be glad to have them 
come,” replied Mr. Prescott, warmly; “and not 
for pay, either. This is a common school, and all 
are welcome — ^providing they come to learn. I 
have some theories of my own on teaching which 
I want to try out. So I will he helping myself as 
well as, I hope, helping them. By all means send 
them along. ’ ’ 

“But what about hooks?” inquired Fox anx- 
iously. 

“I don’t know what books they’ll need,” replied 
Mr. Prescott. “Part of my experiment will be to 
find out. Leave that to me; I can get them at 
wholesale, and the cost to you will not he very 
great, I assure you. And some of them I have 
and will be only too glad to let them use. ’ ’ 

Fox rose to go, hut lingered awkwardly for a 
few moments. ‘ ‘ There ’s something else, Mr. Pres- 
cott,” he said, finally. “I’d like to come myself. 
I never had any schoolin’. I can cipher a little, 
though, and I’d like to learn to read and write. 
Could you put up with me? I’ll try to be as little 
bother as possible. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Of course, and be glad of the chance to do so. 
Do come ! ” 


232 


Bunty Prescott 


So it was settled. The next morning the Fox 
family came into the clearing, Indian file. The 
‘‘An Sable District School’’ had increased its 
membership to seven ; its pupils were between the 
ages of eight and fifty, and they represented 
two races. 


CHAPTER XXXII 


WOEK AND PLAY AT THE SCHOOL 

Though the nights were cool, the days remained 
pleasant and quite warm, so sessions of the school 
were still held in the tents. Rough pine desks were 
made for each pupil, and slates, pencils, tablets, 
copy and spelling books were secured at Grayling. 
The novelty wore off very soon. It did not seem 
strange to any of them that a father, his four sons, 
and an Indian should be studying away, side by 
side in a school built of canvas. 

As Mr. Prescott had said, he had ideas of his 
own as to how a school should be run, and he pro- 
ceeded to put them into practice. The sessions 
lasted from eight o’clock until twelve, with a half 
hour’s recess at ten o’clock. A pupil could leave 
his seat whenever he wished and could whisper 
with the others, as long as his lessons were recited 
well. But when he fell behind, privileges were 
withdrawn until he made up his work. 

The recesses were times of merry sport. Base- 
ball was not neglected, but there were other means 
of exercise and fun as well. Parallel bars were 


233 


234 


Bunty Prescott 


built, and a trapeze hung near by in a stout frame. 
The punching bag was rigged up on another frame 
and frequently resounded to the whacking of two 
pairs of busy fists. The boxing gloves simply had 
to be kept at the school, since the two smallest 
Foxes never could agree which was the more skill- 
ful with them. It was necessary to try conclu- 
sions every day. 

Baseball games were played on two successive 
Saturdays. The first time the opponents were a 
Grayling nine. The pitching of the Englishman 
was too much for them, and the Au Sable team 
won, 12 to 4. The second game was with a team 
of settlers, many of whom came long distances 
to play. It was close, but the Au Sable team was 
again the victor, Mr. Prescott winning it by a 
mighty home run swat into the river in the ninth 
inning. 

As the weather got cooler, a football replaced 
the baseball. Eecess was given over to drop kicks 
and place kicks and punts, with all of which, of 
course, Mr. Prescott was very familiar. Pugh, 
who generally managed to be about at recess time, 
proved a great punter. This was easily explained : 
He had played ‘ ‘ Eugby ’ ’ in England. 

After the Poxes had been in attendance at the 
school for a fortnight, Mr. Prescott put another of 
his ideas into practice. All the pupils except 


Worh and Play at the School 235 

Bunty had started with reading, writing, spelling 
and arithmetic, and had made good progress. 
They were anxious to learn, and applied them- 
selves earnestly. 

have been watching you,’’ announced the 
teacher, ^ ^ and I believe I understand each of you. 
The lessons are beginning to be easy now. You 
need something else to occupy your time. In most 
schools you would be given longer lessons. In this 
you will be given something you like to do. 

‘ ‘ First, there ’s Mr. Fox. He has been a hunter 
and trapper all his life — not because he wanted to 
be, particularly, but because he was so placed that 
hunting and fishing and trapping were the only 
things to do. Eeally, nature intended him for 
something else. He dreams of being a farmer 
some day. ’ ’ 

Fox pounded the desk with his fist. ‘‘That’s 
right, Mr. Prescott!” he cried excitedly. “I’d 
give anything to farm it ! ” 

Mr. Prescott smiled and nodded. “Very well; 
you shall. You have the groundwork of an educa- 
tion. Keep practicing your reading, writing and 
spelling, and in a year you will do as well with 
them as most men. 

“Now for the rest of it; I have ordered a num- 
ber of books on farming for you, selecting those 
dealing with northern latitudes and sandy soil. 


236 


Bunty Prescott 


Besides, your name has been placed on the list of 
the Department of Agriculture at Washington, 
and you will get all their bulletins. These deal 
with renewing the land, growing new crops, re- 
forestation — in fact, everything an up-to-date 
farmer should know. How does that suit youT’ 
^ ^ Suit me r ’ cried the settler. ‘ ‘ Why, Mr. Pres- 
cott, a fortune couldn’t suit me any better. Thank 
you a thousand times ! ’ ’ 

‘‘That’s all right; don’t thank me. Bunty and 
I will come up here next year and eat all your 
strawberries and melons. Eedbird, you’re next. 
I find that you are a good deal of a builder. With- 
out your help I couldn’t have made that addition 
to the cabin stand up. Would you like to learn 
how they put up great structures of brick and steel 
and stone in the cities ? ’ ’ 

“Un-nh-hh!” He would. They could see the 
desire in his eager nod and sparkling eyes. 

“Well, I have a brother who is an architect and 
builder. I have written him to send some books 
of plans and illustrations for you. They will be 
here presently. They will teach you how to figure 
and how to draw a straight line. 

“Now, Herbert.” Everybody, including the 
young man himself, looked startled to hear “Eed” 
Fox called by his real name. “You were meant 
either for a musician or a soldier; maybe both. 


W orh and Play at the School 


237 


Already you can make that trumpet talk. If 
there’s war with Spain — but we’ll let the future 
take care of itself. 

‘‘I know you would like to learn the history of 
music and of some of the great composers. I have 
looked after that. What instrument would you 
like to play?” 

^ ‘ He ’s always wanted a fiddle, ’ ’ put in Mr. Fox ; 
‘‘but we never felt as if we could atford it.” 

“Well, I call that lucky!” cried Mr. Prescott. 
‘ ‘ When I was a boy, my father bought me a fiddle. 
It’s as good as new, because I never could learn 
to play, and soon gave up trying. I’ll send home 
for that. And I might be able to help you a little 
at first, Herbert, for I had a good teacher.” 
“Eed” looked his thankfulness ; he was almost too 
happy to speak. 

“Henry.” It was now “Blackie’s” turn to be 
surprised at the mention of his “really-truly” 
name. “Henry, you seem to be a good deal of a 
naturalist. You know more about bugs and fish 
and beetles than any of us. Well, you should have 
a microscope and a couple of good works to go by. 
We can rig up a butterfly net and some arrange- 
ment for keeping specimens, between us.” Poor 
“Blackie” could only stammer. Here Mr. Pres- 
cott thought his searching for queer insects and 
animals was all right, while his brothers had 


238 Bunty Prescott 

always plagued Mm about it ! It seemed too good 
to be true. 

‘‘Joseph, you seem to be the artist of the school. 
Your drawing shows decided talent. That picture 
of your father the other day — ” “Silver’’ 
blushed, and Mr. Fox looked suspicious — “was 
really good. I have sent for some water colors 
and drawing paper for you. 

“Eichard, you seem to have a passion for 
machinery, so ” 

The other Foxes laughed and the father inter- 
rupted: “That’s right, Mr. Prescott, that’s right! 
He’s taken the clock apart twice!” “Eoundy” 
looked sheepish, but brightened up when the 
teacher went on: “So we’re going to get you a 
little steam engine from one of the stores down in 
Detroit. 

“As for you, Bunty, you would like to write a 
book some day.” 

“Why, daddy,” cried the boy in surprise, “how 
did you know? I never said a word to anybody. 
But I would, really I would!” 

“Blackie” could contain himself no longer. 
“What’s the matter with Mr. Prescott?” he 
inquired, in a loud, shrill treble. 

“He’s all right!” yelled the school, in unison, 
excepting Eedbird. Hot knowing just the proper 
answer, he added a war whoop to the tumult. 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


THE COMING OF WINTER 

Early in October it was found necessary to move 
the school into the cabin. There was a frost every 
night, and the days had become quite cold. Mr. 
Prescott and Bunty and Redbird also spent their 
evenings in the house, though father and son still 
clung to the tents as a sleeping place. 

The box of books and other articles had arrived, 
to everyone ^s great delight. It was a happy and 
noisy school thereafter. The regular lessons occu- 
pied the pupils until recess; afterwards, until 
noon, each took up his hobby. 

Fox read from the farm books, following the 
words with his forefinger and spelling the long 
ones out slowly. The dictionary was at his elbow, 
and he thumbed it frequently. Redbird, lying flat 
on the floor, seemed never to tire of gazing at pic- 
tures of great office buildings. He handled a pen- 
cil very well, and soon began drawing plans which 
he proudly submitted to Mr. Prescott. 

‘‘Red’’ practiced away on his violin without dis- 
turbing anyone in the slightest. “Blackie,” 

239 


240 


Bunty Prescott 


elbows on desk and head on hands, stared into 
his microscope at some strange insect or grub cap- 
tured that morning on his way to school. Fre- 
quently he called the teacher to share some new 
discovery. ‘ ^ Silver, ” a sly smile on his face, never 
tired of drawing the others. His nimble pencil 
would not be serious ; there was something funny 
in every effort which he made. 

^‘Eoundy,^’ lips pursed importantly, tinkered 
away at his engine. He made pulleys out of spools, 
and belts from strips of rawhide until one corner 
of the room was a whirring, clacking mass of 
machinery. Bunty and ‘ ^ Silver ’ ’ tried to run his 
‘‘mill,’’ as he called it, when the youngster’s back 
was turned, but they did not have his knack. The 
engine stopped, or a belt broke, or the pulleys 
would not turn. Yet in five minutes the wrathful 
“Eoundy” would have everything going as well 
as ever. 

Bunty was given a subject on which to write an 
essay each morning, and when it was done his 
father read it over and pointed out the mistakes. 
“Be sure to get the right word in the right place, 
old man,” Mr. Prescott would say. And Bunty, 
biting on his pencil, would sit for minutes at a 
time, staring off into vacancy. Like many an- 
other writer, he knew what he wanted to say, but 
not always just how to say it. 


The Coming of Winter 


241 


There was a great deal to do, yet Mr. Prescott 
would not let anything keep them inside in the 
afternoons. When school had been dismissed and 
dinner eaten, he and Bunty and the Indian would 
start out. Each carried a shotgun or a rifle, and 
it was rarely that they came back empty-handed, 
for squirrels and birds and rabbits were plentiful. 

Mr. Prescott had been elected a major at the 
Island Lake camp, as his colonel had promised ; so 
in the evenings there were drill books to study. 
Convinced that there would soon be war with 
Spain over Cuba, and that he would see service 
in the island, he took up the task of learning the 
Spanish language. Also, he and Bunty read bits 
from the great authors. Lastly, an hour of each 
Friday was set apart for American history, and 
he had to prepare talks on the landing of the Pil- 
grims, the ‘‘Boston tea party,’’ and similar great 
events, for his eager scholars. 

Time flew so swiftly with these pleasant occu- 
pations that the month was gone before they knew 
it. On November first a letter came from Dr. 
McFarland, announcing that he and Judge Ban- 
croft and Mr. Conway would reach Englishman’s 
Camp on the seventh. The deer-hunting season 
opened on the eighth, and they wanted to be on 
hand. 

That night proved to be the last they slept in 


242 


Bunty Prescott 


tents. The sky was clear when they went to bed, 
and the tent-walls were left rolled high. But in 
the morning a six-inch mantle of snow covered the 
ground, while several small drifts powdered their 
blankets. 

So the work of moving to the cabin was com- 
pleted. The tents were dried, folded, and packed 
away, not without a great deal of regret. The 
Foxes burst into the clearing, yelling like Indians 
and snowballing each other vigorously. Winter 
had come. 


CHAPTEE XXXIV 


BUNTY BECOMES A DEER HUNTER 

The cookstove had been moved into the addition, 
leaving the main part of the cabin for a sleeping 
and living room. There were several roomy bunks 
in it, built against the wall, and Mr. Prescott and 
Bunty chose two of them for their own. All the 
bunks were filled with branches of the fragrant 
balsam fir, so that the hunters might rest easily 
after the long day^s tramp after deer. 

Mr. Prescott knew what was expected of him: 
That he should have a warm supper awaiting the 
hunters when they arrived from Detroit. So he 
set about learning how to make good pancakes. It 
took several trials and much help from the cook 
book and Mrs. Pugh. But at last he could prepare 
light, flaky ^‘flapjacks’’ which fairly melted in 
one’s mouth. 

The snow had made good sleighing, so when the 
morning of the seventh came, Pugh harnessed his 
team to a pair of light “bobs” and drove off to 
Grayling to meet the doctor and his friends. 

Bunty watched eagerly all the afternoon for 
243 


244 


Bunty Prescott 


their coming. At last, just at dusk, there was a 
jingle of sleighhells, and the sleighs swung briskly 
into the clearing and up to the cabin. Mr. Pres- 
cott threw the door wide open with a cheerful hail. 

The ride had been a cold one, and it was an 
attractive sight which greeted the travelers — the 
cozy room, bathed in ruddy light from the great, 
crackling logs in the fireplace, the rough walls 
covered with racks of guns and fishing rods. The 
bunks, heaping with balsam, invited them to rest. 
Beyond the living room, through another open 
door, was the brightly lighted kitchen. The stove, 
covered with sizzling pots and pans, from which 
came tempting odors, stood in the center of it. 

It was little wonder that the newcomers lost 
some of their dignity at the sights and smells, and 
talked all at once, like a pack of happy boys: 
‘‘Well, Prescott, you did it, bless you!’’ cried Dr. 
McFarland. “A warm supper — coffee and flap- 
jacks, and I’ve brought some maple syrup;” he 
paused a moment to sniff, and then continued: 
“And fried potatoes — and bacon — and eggs. 
Hooray ! ’ ’ 

“See the addition the man has built to our 
house!” said Judge Bancroft, a tall, handsome 
man with white hair. “A new floor in the old 
shack, and new doors, too! Why, the place is a 
palace to what it used to be ! ” 


Bunty Becomes a Deer Hunter 245 

‘‘The Au Sable Eiver Hunting Association 
will please come to order ! ’ ’ shouted Mr. Conway, 
who was short and fat and jolly. “I move we 
make Prescott a member of this association 
because of the good work he has done. All in 
favor say ‘Aye.’ ” The three shouted “Aye” as 
if they were giving a college yell. 

They had been slapping Mr. Prescott on the 
back and shaking hands with him, but now he man- 
aged to escape to the kitchen. He felt that the 
supper needed his attention. Dr. McFarland, 
turning around, caught sight of Bunty, who was 
setting the table. The good doctor could only stare 
at the boy in amazement. 

Five months before, in Detroit, Bunty Prescott 
had been a narrow-chested, listless little fellow 
with eyes glassy with illness. His thin cheeks had 
been white, except for an unhealthy red spot on 
the cheek bones. His body had been thin and 
stooped. 

It was a far ditferent Bunty Prescott who smiled 
at him now. This boy’s round, plump face was 
tanned by wind and sun; his eyes sparkled with 
vigorous health. The thin body had straightened 
and thickened, until it was as sturdy as a young 
sapling. A glance at Bunty would convince one 
that merely being alive was a joy to him. 

“I can’t believe it!” cried the doctor at last. 


246 


Bunty Prescott 


^^You rascal, you don’t look like the same boy! 
Come here, sir,” and he gave Bunty a hug which 
nearly squeezed the breath out of him. ^‘Now 
shake hands with the judge and Mr. Conway.” 

‘‘Well,” remarked Mr. Conway, when this cere- 
mony had been completed, “he’s a likely-looking 
candidate, boys. I move we examine him for 
membership in our association.” 

“Fire away!” rejoined the judge and the doctor 
in unison. 

“Very well.” He looked sternly at Bunty. 
“Now, young man, I am about to ask you some 
important questions, to which you must make 
prompt and correct answers if you wish to join 
us. Are you ready?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

‘ ‘ What weapons can you use ? ’ ’ 

“Eifle and revolver and shotgun, sir.” 

“Are you a good shot?” 

“I — I think so, sir.” 

‘ ‘ What have you hunted ? ’ ’ 

“Babbits and partridges and squirrels.” 

‘ ‘ Hum. Ever get any ? ’ ’ 

“Oh, yes, sir. Lots of them!” 

‘ ‘ Have you ever fished ? ’ ’ 

“Yes, sir.” 

“What have you caught?” 


Bunty Becomes a Deer Hunter 


247 


‘‘Eainbow and speckled trout, pickerel and 
perch and bass.’’ 

‘^How do you start a fire in the open?” 

‘‘Get dry sticks, stand them up on end ” 

“That’s enough. Have you ever been lost in 
the woods?” 

“Yes, sir; once.” 

“Who rescued you?” 

“No one. I found my way to camp with this 
compass.” He showed them the instrument 
strapped to his wrist. 

‘ ‘ Good. Should a gun be loaded or unloaded in 
the house ? ’ ’ 

“Always unloaded, sir.” 

‘ ‘ If you were hunting, and saw something in the 
brush that looked like a deer, would you fire ? ’ ’ 

“Not until I was sure it was a deer, sir.” 

‘ ‘ Good, again ! Have you ever hunted deer ? ’ ’ 

“No, sir.” 

At this Mr. Conway shook his head dolefully 
and looked at his two friends. “Too bad, too 
bad,” he murmured. “I don’t know ” 

“A chap has to start some time, hasn’t he?” 
queried the grinning judge. “You were older than 
Bunty, I’ll wager, before you killed your first 
deer.” 

Mr. Conway nodded. “That’s so,” he agreed. 


248 Bunty Prescott 

Then to Bnnty: ‘^Supposing I pointed a gun at 
youT^ 

try my best to make you stop/^ 

‘‘Would you like to go out hunting with us?” 
“Yes, sir, indeed I would!” 

“One more question: What gun is the most 
dangerous ? ’ ’ 

“The unloaded one, sir!” cried Bunty, 
promptly, and they all laughed. 

“Gentlemen of the association,” said Mr. Con- 
way, with great formality, “the candidate has 
passed a very satisfactory examination. I move 
that he be admitted to membership as a deer 
hunter. All in favor say ‘ Aye. ’ ’ ’ 

“Aye!” roared the three of them. 

Mr. Prescott, standing in the door of the 
kitchen, listened smilingly to the dialogue. “Pres- 
cott,” said Mr. Conway severely, “if you donT 
vote I shall be compelled to fine you four flapjacks, 
payable to me ! ” 

“Aye!” shouted Mr. Prescott. 


CHAPTER XXXV 


BUNTY LEARNS WHAT '^BUCK FEVER IS 

Pugh came over after supper, and the next day’s 
hunting was mapped out. The Englishman had 
been roaming for days over the territory within 
ten miles of his home; and he knew where the 
deer were located. 

‘‘East of the river,” he said, “between it and 
Lost Lake, is a bunch of sixteen or eighteen deer. 
Beyond the lake, over near the big swamp, is 
another bunch of twenty-five or thirty. Now, you 
all know that when you begin shooting up a bunch 
of deer, they run away at the time, but always 
work back again. I think we’d better start in 
to-morrow on those between the river and the 
lake.” 

“Which way shall we drive*?” asked the judge. 

“Depends on the wind,” replied Pugh. “It 
was from the north to-day, and I guess it’ll hold 
steady to-morrow.” 

“Aren’t you afraid some other party will kill 
otf those deer beyond the lake before we get to 
them?” queried Mr. Conway. 

249 


250 


Bunty Prescott 


‘‘There’s always a chance of it,” was Pugh’s 
reply; “but I don’t think it probable. Very few 
hunters will come in anywhere near this far. Fox 
and the other settlers will hunt west of the river 
and in toward Grayling. Everything east of the 
river is ours. ’ ’ 

Bunty was an eager listener to this and other 
conversation which followed. They went to bed 
early, but it seemed hours to the boy before he 
got to sleep. Visions of the morrow’s hunting 
kept him awake, staring wide-eyed into the 
darkness. 

When slumber did come, it seemed that he had 
barely closed his eyes before he was awakened by 
his father’s cheery call: “Al-11 o-o-out!” The 
cabin was warmed and lighted by a famous blaze 
in the fireplace, and a tempting smell of breakfast 
colfee was coming from the kitchen. It was barely 
four 0 ’clock and still very dark outside. 

The others awoke and began dressing with 
much good-natured grumbling. “Heavy clothes, 
everybody!” commanded Mr. Prescott. “It’s 
cold, I tell you!” 

Breakfast was over in half an hour. They were 
getting up from the table when Pugh and Eedbird 
entered, each muffled in a Mackinaw and carrying 
a rifle. There was much cheery bustle, the slip- 
ping of bread-and-bacon sandwiches into deep 


Learns What **Buch Fever^^ Is 251 

pockets of Mackinaw or hunting coat, the strap- 
ping of cartridge belts and the tying on of ear- 
lapped caps. 

The stars were still gleaming brightly overhead 
as they stepped out onto the crisp snow, which 
squeaked beneath their feet. There was a light, 
cold wind from the north. The air was fresh and 
bittersweet. 

In single file they marched upstream and crossed 
the river above Pugh’s on the ice. On the other 
shore they halted and the Englishman said : ‘ ‘ Eed- 
bird and I and one of you will go downstream 
from here for a mile or so, to start the drive. The 
others will turn straight in from here, to within 
a half mile of the lake. You know the place. Doc- 
tor — that little valley where the two runs join.” 

‘^I’ll go with you and Eedbird, Pugh,” said 
Judge Bancroft, promptly. ^ ‘ All aboard ! ’ ’ 

With a few parting directions from Pugh they 
separated, he and the judge and the Indian set- 
ting otf briskly northward, or down the river, 
while the doctor, Mr. Conway, Mr. Prescott and 
Bunty struck off through the scrub toward the 
east. There was a lightening in the sky ahead of 
them, and as they pressed steadily on the dark- 
ness grew less intense. Gradually it turned to 
filmy gray, and the stars went out, one by one. 
Bunty thought he had never seen the sky so blue. 


252 Bunty Prescott 

‘‘What are they going to doT’ he asked his 
father. 

“Who? Pugh and the others? They are going 
to make the drive. When they get downstream far 
enough, they will turn to the east, too, and go in 
about as far as we do. Then the three of them 
will spread out, like the sticks of a fan, and walk 
slowly south toward us. 

“The wind is from the north. Deer are very 
keen of scent, and they will smell our friends while 
they are still a long way off. The deer will retreat 
toward us, following their usual paths or run- 
ways. We will be waiting for them along the 
main runways, and so should have good sport. ’ ’ 

“And don^t get buck fever when you see one 
coming, Bunty,’’ warned the doctor. 

‘ ‘ What is buck fever. Doctor ? ’ ’ asked the boy. 

“Well,” he laughed in reply, “I don’t know as 
I can describe it so you’d understand. But if you 
ever happen to catch it, you’ll know. It’s fright 
and nervousness and anxiety all mixed up, and it 
comes when you see big game — sometimes. Thank 
goodness, a man doesn’t always catch it, or he’d 
do precious little shooting, eh, Conway?” 

‘ ‘ True enough. Doctor, ’ ’ agreed Conway. 

It was daylight when they reached their posts. 
All about were deer tracks, criss-crossing in every 
direction over the snow, besides paths more or less 


Learns What ^^Buck Fever^^ Is 253 

well marked. Some of these paths had not been 
traveled over a dozen times; others were sank 
through the snow, and for several inches into the 
earth. These were old runways that game had 
followed for years. 

Bunty was stationed at the foot of a high hill, 
in a clump of small trees which hid him com- 
pletely. He faced to the north. A few yards in 
front of him two well-trodden runs joined. One 
came from the west around the hill, and the other 
from the east. After they met, the single run 
disappeared into some scrub about fifty yards to 
the north. 

Mr. Prescott was placed a short distance to the 
east by Dr. McFarland, but out of sight of Bunty. 
Mr. Conway took his station beyond a slight rise 
to the west. This would permit any of the three 
to fire rapidly at any deer he saw, without having 
to worry about hitting his friends. Dr. McFarland 
took his position on another north-and-south run- 
way, a quarter of a mile nearer the lake. 

Bunty ’s position was the best of the four. Some 
of the deer running from the scent of the men 
behind would be sure to charge down the little 
valley toward him. They would be in his sight 
before being seen by the others, and so he would 
have the first shot. Those which he missed would 


254 Bunty Prescott 

probably turn to the right or left, thus giving them 
an opportunity. 

Don’t leave your runway,” cautioned his 
father before leaving the boy alone. “Watch all 
the time; deer usually come when a chap doesn’t 
expect them, and so isn’t ready. Don’t make any 
noise. They have keen ears, and once they hear 
you, it’s all off. I’ll be over at noon to eat lunch 
with you.” 

So Bunty, promising to remember these direc- 
tions, took up his lonesome vigil. It was rather 
pleasant at first. He kept his eyes glued on the 
runway and on the ridges of hills which fianked 
the valley. But nothing appeared. 

The sun had turned the snow-crust into millions 
of tiny diamonds. Continued staring made him 
squint after awhile. Then things began to lag. 
He grew tired of watching for something which 
never came. It was cold, too, and he began walk- 
ing back and forth, like a sentry on his post. His 
legs grew weary before he was warm, and a log 
back in the bush attracted him. He brushed the 
snow off it and sat down, only to find that the 
runway was now quite out of sight. 

Still, he sat there until the report of a rifle, 
coming faintly from the north, excited his atten- 
tion. He ran back to his lookout again as another 
report came echoing over the hills. He searched 





Bunty looked up to see a deer standing quietly in the runway 
before him, so close that it seemed to be staring right into his 
eyes. 



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Learns What ‘'Buch Fever^^ Is 255 

the wilderness of white and dnll green with eager 
eyes. But there was nothing in sight. However, 
the reports showed that some one had scared up 
deer and he decided not to go back to his seat. 
Instead, he squatted down in the snow, with his 
back to a stump. 

The sun was now high, and Bunty began to feel 
hungry and thirsty. This deer hunting wasn’t 
such fun, after all. He had half a mind to run 
over for a few minutes to where his father was. 
A drink of water might help him to pass the time 
more comfortably. His father had a canteen, he 
knew. 

Bunty was thinking earnestly of that drink of 
water and nothing at all of hunting. In fact, 
deer were a thousand miles from his thoughts — 
when he looked up to see one standing quietly in 
the runway before him. The animal was so close 
that it seemed to be staring right into his eyes! 

So completely was the young hunter taken aback 
that he never knew whether it was a buck or a 
doe that confronted him. He only knew that it 
seemed big and very threatening, and that he 
was a small boy, a good deal frightened. 

He could feel the sweat burst out on his body. 
A violent fit of trembling seized him, and his 
teeth chattered. He tried to shout at the animal 
and frighten it away, but his voice stuck in his 


256 


Bunty Prescott 


throat. He never thought to shoot, and if he had, 
his shaking hands would not have carried the gun 
to his shoulder. He could only sit and stare back 
at this big creature, and hope that it would go 
away and leave him alone. 

It is quite probable that the encounter did not 
last more than a few seconds, and that the sound 
of his chattering teeth frightened the deer. At 
any rate, it turned suddenly and bounded away. 

That broke the spell. Bunty came to himself 
with a start. He scrambled to his feet and 
screamed: ‘‘Daddy, daddy, a deer, a deer!’’ at 
the top of his voice. Mr. Prescott came running, 
but failed to get a shot, as the animal had turned 
back on its own tracks again. 

Bunty was wiping the sweat otf his forehead 
when his father joined him. “Now I know, 
daddy,” he said with a long breath, “what ‘buck 
fever’ means!” 


CHAPTER XXXVI 


BUNTY BRINGS DOWN A DEER 

The afternoon was more lively. There were 
frequent rifle reports, some near, some far. Dr. 
McFarland wounded a deer which fled westward 
and was brought down by Mr. Prescott. Pugh 
killed one in the drive and so did the judge. Bunty 
took a long shot at a big fellow who appeared on 
the hills to the north, but missed. 

About four o’clock, as it was beginning to get 
dusk, Pugh crossed the river, hitched up his team, 
and returned with the sleigh. The three car- 
casses were loaded into it, and taken back to camp. 
There, to keep prowling animals from getting at 
them, they were strung up by the heads to the 
trapeze frame, some distance otf the ground. 

^‘In most hunting pictures,” ventured Bunty, as 
he surveyed the prizes, ‘‘the deer hang head 
down. ’ ’ 

“Which shows that the artists knew more about 
painting than they do about hunting, ’ ’ replied the 
doctor, smiling. “The fur on a deer points back, 
as it does on a cat. So when you hang him up by 
257 


258 


Bunty Prescott 


the head, the hide sheds rain. The other way np, 
the rain gets nnder the fur. In time, it would spoil 
the fur, as well as make the flesh soggy.” 

Everybody was tired and they went to bed 
early, after a fine supper in which venison steak 
played a large part. Bunty did not like the deer 
meat very much at first; it had a strange, wild 
flavor. Soon, though, it tasted as good as bacon. 

The other days of the hunt were much like the 
first one had been, except that each member of 
the party took turns in preparing the meals. Also, 
those who made the drives were changed daily. 
This divided the work and pleasure equally. They 
all felt sore and tired at first from the long tramps, 
but the lameness wore off presently, and every 
moment of the hunt became enjoyable. 

Mr. Prescott’s school was more or less neg- 
lected, since all the Foxes, as well as Mr. Prescott 
and Bunty and Eedbird, were hunting daily. How- 
ever, the settler and his boys came over evenings 
to have new lessons assigned. These were studied 
and recited to each other at home. The settlers 
did not hunt entirely or even mainly for pleasure, 
as ‘^jerked,” or cured, venison formed the prin- 
cipal part of their food supply during the winter. 

Four days had elapsed before Bunty got his 
first deer. He had had a number of chances, but 
in each case he fired too hurriedly and missed. 


Bunty Brings Down a Beer 259 

The fifth morning found him on a runway opposite 
a dense thicket, and he had been standing guard 
barely an hour when his chance came. The brush 
prevented him from being taken unawares. There 
was much crashing of branches before the animal, 
evidently badly frightened by the drivers in the 
rear, burst into view. 

From hunting views he had seen, he supposed 
that deer ran through the woods with their heads 
up and back. But that was another case where the 
artists were wrong. This deer, a noble buck, held 
his head low to the ground. His nose was thrust 
straight ahead, and his wide horns rested back 
against his sloping neck. 

The boy was ready. He had torn off his mittens 
and cocked his rifle. As the bushes parted and 
the splendid animal, seeing him, turned to run 
away at right angles, he brought the gun to his 
shoulder. 

There was no trace of ‘‘buck fever’’ now. He 
stood firmly, feet wide apart. He glanced as coolly 
along the sights as though firing at a mark. Seek- 
ing a point just back of the deer’s foreshoulder, 
he covered it quickly but carefully . . . and 
pressed the trigger. 

With the crack of the rifle, the buck gave a 
tremendous leap. He seemed almost to fly. Two 
or three more great leaps; then he pitched for- 


260 


Bunty Prescott 

ward, half burying his head in the snow. A few 
convulsive kicks, and he was dead. The bullet 
had passed through his heart. 

It was the finest ‘‘kilP’ of the season, and the 
others praised Bunty heartily for his marksman- 
ship. But the boy looked down at the beautiful, 
glazing eyes of the forest monarch, and the same 
pang went through him as had on that other 
day when he caught his first trout. What a pity 
to kill the great, free, handsome fellow! 

There was no hunting on Sundays nor on the 
days when the weather was bad. On those occa- 
sions the others lounged about the cabin and 
taught Bunty much of their woods lore. He 
learned that the dog-like barks which sometimes 
echoed through the wilderness at nightfall came 
from the throats of the shaggy timber wolves, out 
on deer hunts of their own. Then certain harsh, 
snarling screeches were made by wildcats — ‘^bob- 
cats,’’ the settlers called them. 

Once as he lay in his bunk and the wind dashed 
volleys of freezing rain against the windows, he 
heard the wailing, heart-broken cry of a child, out 
in the great darkness. It seemed to come from 
the river. Breathlessly he called the others. 
Judge Bancroft told him kindly that it was the 
cry of the bloodthirsty lynx, so human-sounding 
that it often deceived experienced woodsmen. 


Bunty Brings Down a Deer 


261 


Often thereafter he heard the animal give tongue, 
but the weird cry always startled him. 

When the camp-talk was not of hunting, it was 
usually of affairs in Cuba. Daily papers reached 
them more or less regularly, and their columns 
teemed with stories of cruelties to the Cubans. 
All agreed that sooner or later the United States 
must interfere and fight Spain. As his elders 
talked, Bunty sat still and listened. But he made 
one mighty resolve : If his father went to Cuba, 
he was going too ! 


CHAPTER XXXVII 


BUNTY FIGHTS FOE HIS LIFE 

The hunting season drew to a close. The law 
permitted each hunter to kill five deer, and as the 
last days of November approached, the quotas 
were well filled. Pugh had slain his five, so he 
headed the drive every day. The others lacked 
but one, or two at the most, of the limit. 

The hunting ground had been shifted to the 
swamp beyond Lost Lake. The deer, from con- 
stant pursuit, had grown very wary, and whole 
days passed without a shot being fired. 

Thanksgiving was duly celebrated with a dinner 
at Pugh^s. Game birds and venison and mince 
pie had been cooked as only Mrs. Pugh could 
cook them. The season closed on the last day of 
the month, which was the Tuesday following. 

They took the field regretfully that last morn- 
ing. It had been a happy outing, all too short. 
The judge and the doctor and Mr. Conway must 
return to the courtroom and the office in Detroit. 
Those left behind would miss them, for they had 
proved good friends and merry companions. 

262 


Bunty Fights for His Life 263 

Bunty was stationed on a great log, overlooking 
a main runway. The day was cold, with the keen, 
still cold of the north. More snow had fallen within 
a few days, until there was now a foot of it on the 
level. 

The drive was started two miles away to the 
east. Mr. Prescott was posted on one side of the 
hoy, Judge Bancroft on the other. There prom- 
ised to be plenty of sport. Already, though it 
was scarcely nine o’clock, rifle shots had sounded 
from the direction of the drive. 

Bunty walked back and forth on his log, which 
was about twenty feet long. Occasionally he 
stamped his feet, which were tingling with the cold. 
He noticed that the log swayed a little when he 
stamped, but paid no attention to it. Probably 
fire had eaten the heart out of it, he thought, so 
it was nothing but an empty shell, and its lightness 
made it move beneath his weight. 

A deer appeared off to his right. It was a long 
shot, more than three hundred yards, but he took 
careful aim and fired. Away scampered the ani- 
mal, apparently unhurt, and he hurriedly sent 
another bullet after it. Then a most surprising 
thing happened. 

The log tilted and threw him sprawling into the 
snow. From the smooth, deep drift at one end 
of it, a great, black, furry head appeared. There 


264 


Bunty Prescott 


were sniffs and struggles. The snow was churned 
about, and rose in clouds. A body followed the 
head. Soon a black bear, towering higher than 
a man, got to his hind legs. 

Bruin had been roused by the thumping of 
Bunty ’s feet and the shots, from his winter’s 
sleep. He had chosen snug quarters in the hollow 
log, and being routed out made him ill-tempered. 
Still blinking stupidly, he peered about for some 
one to quarrel with. 

The boy saw that this was his chance. Perhaps 
a more experienced hunter would not have been 
so foolhardy. But he did not think of danger. 
He thought only of securing so noble a quarry. 
He aimed at the shaggy throat and fired. 

The bear dropped on all fours as the bullet 
went home. Then he rose with a snarl of rage. 
His wicked little eyes were suddenly cleared of 
the film of sleep. Teeth gleaming and blood drip- 
ping from his jaws, he charged lumberingly toward 
his assailant. 

Bunty realized, too late, what he had done. The 
monster was not fatally wounded ; he was simply 
stung to wild anger by the pain of the bullet. Now 
he was coming to take swift vengeance on this 
puny human who had attacked him. 

Eetreat was impossible. The log, shoulder high 
and slippery with snow, penned him in. And the 


Bunty Fights for His Life 265 

bear was not fifteen yards distant. Even had the 
way been clear, he conld not have taken a score 
of steps before those great claws would be tearing 
him. 

So he stood his ground. Throwing the rifle to 
his shoulder, he sent bullet after bullet into the 
onrushing black bulk. They seemed to have no 
more effect than peas, for the bear kept coming, 
his blood dyeing the snow at every step. 

The boy did not flinch. His back against the 
log, he worked the gun with the courage of despair. 
Crack ! Crack ! Crack ! 

The animal was upon him ! He thrust the muz- 
zle of the gun fairly into the gaping jaws, and 
pulled the trigger for the last time. 

Down came the big foreleg in a sidewise swing. 
It struck Bunty in the side with a force that drove 
the breath from his body. Over the log he went, 
as though tossed from a springboard. 

When Mr. Prescott and the doctor came hurry- 
ing up, alarmed by the rapid firing, they found 
the bear, quite dead, partially over the log. 
Bunty, dazed, was lying in a drift a dozen feet 
away, trying hard to get his breath. Bruin ^s 
dying blow had ripped through his thick clothing 
and the claws had left shallow furrows in his side. 

He was hurried back to the cabin, and Dr. 
McFarland made a thorough examination. He 


266 


Bunty Prescott 


found that the boy was not seriously injured. 
Apart from the fact that the scratches smarted 
considerably, and that his side pained for a week 
or so, he was as well as ever. 

The bear proved to be a monster — as heavy as 
two deer. That night the ‘‘Au Sable Eiver Hunt- 
ing Association’’ paused long enough in its pack; 
ing to elect as president the lad propped up in 
his bunk with pillows: ‘‘The greatest hunter of 
us all.” 


CHAPTER XXXVIII 


WINTER IN THE WILDERNESS 

With December, winter came in earnest. Snow 
sifted down in great, wavering flakes until the 
whole appearance of the barrens changed. The 
river, except at the shallows, where the brown 
water rippled cheerily, was tucked away in its 
thick white blanket. The trees bent low under 
their burdens. Most of the underbrush had dis- 
appeared, for the snow was a good three feet 
deep on the level. Huge drifts came to the eaves 
of the cabin. 

Redbird took charge of the game which had been 
killed. Some of the meat was ‘‘jerked,’^ so that it 
would keep during the winter. It was rendered 
dry and tough by the process, though remaining 
a nourishing food. The rest was salted in bar- 
rels, excepting part of the bear and one deer. 
These were left hanging out, frozen, for daily use. 

The Indian knew the secret of tanning in the 
wilderness. He gathered oak and hemlock bark 
and certain plants. These were steeped together 
267 


268 Bunty Prescott 

over a fire, and by means of the brew the hides 
were tanned. 

For days he kneaded and rubbed the skins with 
the steaming liquid until they became soft and 
pliable. The result was a pile of beautiful rugs. 
He also removed the hair from two deerhides. 
These gave a supply of buckskin, for which the 
settler finds some use nearly every day. 

The weeks passed swiftly. School had been 
resumed. All the pupils made good progress in 
their studies. Christmas was celebrated by a 
special program and a gift-laden tree, hand- 
somely lighted. Mr. and Mrs. Pugh and Mrs. 
Fox attended the exercises, and were remembered 
with gifts, much to their delight. 

The snow was so deep that snowshoes were nec- 
essary for getting about. Using twisted rawhide 
and hickory, Eedbird made a pair for Bunty and 
another for Mr. Prescott, for their ‘‘store’’ 
ones had proven unsatisfactory. Snowshoes are 
awkward-looking affairs, shaped something like 
a tennis racquet. Despite their seeming clumsi- 
ness, a person can travel swiftly and easily on 
them through loose, deep snow. 

Eain came in January — ^just enough to form a 
stout crust over the surface of the drifts. Then 
Eedbird made them all skis. 

A ski (pronounced “skee”) is a flat, narrow 


Winter in the Wilderness 


269 


piece of wood, six or eight feet long, and turning 
up slightly in front. In the center is a thong, and 
into this thong the foot is slipped. The ski-runner 
travels by advancing one foot and then the other, 
without lifting them, somewhat as though he 
were skating. A stout, sharp pole helps him to 
travel fast. 

Ski-running proved great sport, though father 
and son took many tumbles in learning how to do 
it. The Foxes all had slds, too, and the whole 
party rambled far over the countryside. Bunty 
frequently made the rounds of a line of traps with 
one or another of the Fox boys. 

One bitter night about the middle of February, 
father and son were awakened by a knocking on 
their door. 

‘‘Who is there?’’ called Mr. Prescott. 

‘ ‘ Pugh, ’ ’ replied the Englishman ; “let me in. ’ ’ 

They knew from the sound of his voice that 
something had happened. Mr. Prescott made 
haste to open the door. Bunty never forgot the 
thrill of horror which swept over him when the 
Englishman said: “The battleship Maine has 
been blown up in Havana harbor, and most of her 
crew are killed.” 

Pugh and his father sat up until far into the 
night. They replenished the fire with logs and 
sat before it, talking in low tones. Bunty lis- 


270 


Bunty Prescott 


tened from Ms bunk until sleep overcame Mm. 
Once Ms father said; ‘^It means I will have to 
bid you good-bye soon. There must be war, now.’^ 

The Englishman replied; know how you 
feel about it. If they needed me, I would enlist, 
myself. What are you going to do with the boyT’ 

And his father said; ‘‘Frankly, Pugh, I don’t 
know. He is as well as ever now, but I’m afraid 
of having him remain in the city. He is growing 
rapidly and it would be well to have him in 
the open air as much as possible. It’s qmte a 
problem. ’ ’ 

Bunty went to sleep with the comfortable feel- 
ing that it was no problem to him ; He was going 
to Cuba with his father ! 

From that night of Pugh’s tidings there was a 
change. The feel of stirring things was in the 
air. The newspapers and the people cried aloud 
for war. The Fox boys began starting their 
sentences to Bunty regretfully; “After you go 
away ” 

February gave place to blustery March. The 
winds blew wildly, thrashing through the ragged 
wilderness. The great drifts shrank in on them- 
selves. Toward the end of the month the crows 
came drifting back from the south. There were 
thousands of them, and they greeted the little 
settlement with harsh cries. 


Winter in the Wilderness 


271 


Bare patches began to appear on the hillsides. 
The ice on the river rotted. Snowball battles were 
the daily amnsement at recess. All the earth was 
awakening sweetly from the long, cold sleep of 
winter. 

In April Mr. Prescott began packing the camp 
supplies in the big boxes which had brought them. 
Bunty ranged the barrens like a young wild thing, 
as fleet and tireless and healthy as the furry 
creatures he surprised. He found the shy, fra- 
grant, trailing arbutus and sent great bunches of 
it to his friends in Detroit. 

The month was wearing to a close when the 
message came for which Mr. Prescott had been 
waiting. Frequent letters from military friends 
had prepared him for it. Yet his heart beat rap- 
idly when at sunrise one morning a young man 
on a sweating horse rode into the clearing. 

‘ ‘ Thought you might want this right away, Mr. 
Prescott,’’ he said, passing over a small yellow 
envelope, ^^so I brought it right out.” 

Mr. Prescott, with Bunty standing on tiptoe 
beside him to see, tore open the envelope and 
read: 

^^War declared. Eegiment ordered to Island 
Lake. Can you report there 26th? Answer. 
Mainwaring, colonel.” 


272 Bunty Prescott 

And this message went back: ‘‘I will be there. 
Prescott. ^ ’ 

Prom that time on they were bnsy with prepara- 
tions for leaving. Bnnty looked with regret at the 
winter camp. It would not be easy to break away 
from it all. 


CHAPTER XXXIX 


GOOD-BYE TO THE WILDEKNESS 

The Foxes came over as Dsaal for school. Their 
faces fell when they heard the news and saw the 
preparations for departure. Bnt they made the 
best of it. All bnt ‘‘Red’’ turned in to help pack. 
He went home to hitch up the team. The Fox 
family would drive to Grayling with their friends. 

Bunty was excited and much pleased at the pros- 
pect of going away, but he was sorry too. To live 
in a camp where there were thousands of soldiers, 
hear the bands play daily, and see the drilling 
and marching! His heart beat joyfully. But 
then he thought of leaving Englishman’s Camp 
and Redbird and Pugh and the Foxes. No more 
wandering through the barrens ; no more hunting 
and fishing; no more trips down the swift Au 
Sable ; no more snowshoe and ski tramps over the 
hills. Tears came to his eyes unbidden. He had 
grown to love the north country, and next year 
he and his father would come back to it. 

Soon the boxes were packed and strapped. 
Pugh promised to send them to Detroit by freight. 

273 


274 Bunty Prescott 

This attended to, there was nothing to detain the 
travelers longer. 

‘ ‘ Eed ^ ^ drove in with the Fox team just then, so 
they started. Mr. and Mrs. Pugh and Mr. Pres- 
cott and Bunty rode in one wagon, and the Foxes 
in the other. Eedbird had slipped away when 
the packing was finished. He had said to Hugo : 
‘‘See you downtown.’^ Doubtless he was well on 
his way to Grayling already. 

The drive to Grayling was uneventful. Nobody 
talked much ; the coming parting weighed on their 
minds. It was mid-afternoon when they reached 
the village. They found the streets crowded with 
an enthusiastic throng of woodsmen, Indians, 
business men and settlers. “War^^ was on every 
tongue. 

News soon spreads in a little town, and every- 
body knew of Mr. Prescott and the telegram he 
had received. They were aware of the fact that 
he was hastening back to join his regiment. His 
name was on every tongue. The first man of their 
acquaintance to answer his country’s call, in their 
eyes he was a hero. 

“There he is now!” cried some one as the 
wagons turned into the straggling business street. 
There was an outburst of cheers and hand clap- 
ping. “Fall in, fall in!” sounded on every 


Good-bye to the Wilderness 275 

hand. Soon the sidewalks were deserted, and a 
procession had formed behind the wagons. 

Away they went down the street toward the 
railroad station. A merchant rushed out with a 
large American flag and handed it to Bunty. The 
boy held it proudly aloft. 

Some one shouted ^ ‘ Eally round the flag, boys ! ’ ’ 
In an instant they were all singing the stirring 
song. 

A barber, wearing his white duck coat, left the 
customer he was shaving, to find out what it was 
all about. He ran back into his shop, threw the 
razor into a drawer, grabbed his cornet otf its 
nail on the wall, and fell in behind the wagon, 
blowing away like mad. From stores and cross 
streets other musicians came hurrying up. Here 
a man with the bass drum; there the trombone 
player; yonder the snare-drummer. Soon the 
Grayling Cornet band was marching along, play- 
ing as spiritedly as though it had been rehearsing 
such a parade for a month. 

As for the man in the barber’s chair, he wiped 
the lather off his face and ran out to join the 
procession too. He did not notice, nor did any- 
body else, that only half of his face had been 
shaved. 

The patriotic enthusiasm deepened. At the sta- 
tion Mr. Prescott was almost mobbed. They 


276 


Bunty Prescott 


crowded around to shake hands with him and to 
wish him good luck. Three cheers for Major 
Prescott!” was proposed. They were given with 
such a will that a curious deer, sniffing about a 
deserted cabin a mile up-river, tossed his foolish 
head and ran away in fright. 

Bunty was not overlooked. As he stepped out 
of the wagon, a brawny settler tossed the boy 
onto his shoulder, and called for Three cheers 
for Little White Chief!” The roar which followed 
sped the fleeing deer on his way. 

Mr. Prescott, despite the confusion, managed 
to get his friends together for a quiet farewell. 
They all slipped away behind the depot, while the 
band played patriotic tunes out in front. 

‘‘You don’t know how it grieves me to go,” he 
said, looking into the circle of earnest faces. “We 
have been here nearly a year, Hugo and I, and it 
has been the happiest year of our lives. You have 
all been very good to us ; we will never forget it. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ That ’s all nonsense, Mr. Prescott, ’ ’ said Fox, 
with a roughness which did not hide his true feel- 
ings. “You’re the one that’s been good to us! 
You’ve taught me, and you’ve taught my boys, 
to read and write. You’ve shown us what a good 
thing education is. You’ve been a true friend!” 

“I’m glad you reminded me of the school,” said 


Good-hye to the Wilderness 277 

Mr. Prescott. ‘‘How would you like to have it 
go on right along 

The look on their eager faces, as they crowded 
closer, was answer enough. 

“ Well,^’ he continued, “I believe it can be man- 
aged. Build a log school house over west of you, 
Fox, where the Pomeroys, the Joneses, and that 
new family thaFs just come in can get to it, and 
Idl furnish a teacher.^’ 

They all began talking at once, assuring him the 
school would be ready within two weeks. He 
nodded, pleased at their eagerness. 

“That^s good,^’ he smiled. “The teacher is a 
young friend of mine who lives in Detroit. He 
taught last year. But he^s a delicate chap, and 
his lungs will go back on him if he doesn’t get 
away from the city. He’s anxious to come up 
here, and I’ve guaranteed his salary.” 

“Guarantee if you want, but we’ll pay for it!” 
declared Fox vigorously. “Education isn’t worth 
havin’, if it doesn’t teach one to pay for what 
he gets!” 

“We’ll all help,” said Pugh, quietly, speaking 
for the first time. 

A little more talk, and the good-byes were said. 
They shook hands all around. Mrs. Pugh cried 
a little as she kissed Bunty, for she had grown 
very fond of the boy. ‘ ‘ Eoundy ’ ’ blubbered heart- 


278 


Bunty Prescott 


brokenly, only to look np sturdily after a bit and 
offer to ‘‘rassle just once more.’’ 

Bunty ’s own eyes smarted. But something 
which Eedbird and ^^Eed” Fox said puzzled him 
so that he forgot his tears. They came up 
together, smiling, and took his hands. ‘^No feel 
bad. Little White Chief,” said Eedbird. ‘^Mebbe 
we see you bimeby, pretty soon.” 

‘‘Why, whatever do you mean, Eedbird?” 
asked the boy, with wide eyes. “We’re going 
away, perhaps to Cuba — that is, daddy is, and I 
want to go with him. So how could you see us 
pretty soon?” 

“Never mind; just wait — and watch,” whis- 
pered “Eed.” And neither of them would say 
another word. 

The train came puffing in, and father and son 
struggled through a lane of wildly cheering peo- 
ple to the cars. The band played “Auld Lang 
Syne” so loudly that the cornetist turned purple 
from his efforts. 

There were three cheers and a tiger for Major 
Prescott, and three more for his son. Folks clung 
to the railing of the car and reached up to shake 
hands with them again. 

They were off. The last man let go and dropped 
to the ground. They stood on the back platform, 
waving their hats until the shouts of their new- 


Good-bye to tlie Wilderness 


279 


found friends and the notes of the band were lost 
in the roar of the train. The crowd faded to a 
mere blur, with a dash of bright color above it. 

The dash of color was the flag, which Bunty had 
handed to Pugh. The Englishman was waving it 
back and forth above his head. 

They stood together in silence until Grayling 
had vanished, and the jack pine hills shut it in 
behind them. ‘ ‘ Daddy, said Bunty wistfully, 
‘^may I go to Cuba with you? We’d have such a 
good time together ! ’ ’ 

‘‘But I don’t know that I’m going there 
myself ! ’ ’ 

“Yes, but if you do, daddy?” 

Mr. Prescott put his arm about the boy’s shoul- 
ders and hugged him. “Well, old man,” he 
smiled, “we’ll see; we’ll see!” 



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